


The Advantages of Sentiment and Friends

by MaryLouLeach



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Family, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-05
Updated: 2012-12-05
Packaged: 2017-11-20 10:06:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 29,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/584179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaryLouLeach/pseuds/MaryLouLeach
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John demonstrates to Mycroft the advantages of sentiment and friendship, but can the Ice man repay the favor? Sherlock isnt the only one who unexpectedly gained a friend in Doctor John Watson.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Decisions

**A/N SHERLOCK is property of bbc...i dont own the characters although i do love to dream about them. :)**

* * *

**CHAPTER ONE. DECISIONS**

John tried to catch his breath, they only had15 minutes at most, before Team Kidnap as he'd dubbed their pursuers, would be on them. The night air was cold, still he welcomed this, the fresh air of the open, as opposed to the stale air of a prison cell, one with no windows and a the irritating flicker of a florescent light. Whatever the bastards had shot into Sherlock still held him in the grip of a drugged stupor, well also a plus considering some of his injuries.

"Train yard, right. Ok, ok. But where the hell-" John spoke to himself scanning the area. His taller companion leaning into him, breathing less shallow, maybe the cold air was sobering Sherlock up. John balanced his friend, gently leaning Sherlock up against the shell of an empty cargo container, then pulling Sherlock's dark coat shut, fastening the black buttons tightly. Ignoring the shaking of his own cold numbed hands, or was it the onset of infection? He pushed that down, unaware of his blood staining the scratchy bellstaff coat.

"Switzerland." Sherlock grumbled, head tilted back, exposing the fair skin of his neck and John could see the dark bruises caused by large meaty hands no doubt squeezing the air from an otherwise talkative detective. John could only guess what Sherlock had deduced about the unhappy goon causing such a hostile response. Either way John added that to another reason why he didn't feel bad about killing Mr. Meatyfists.

"How the hell could you know that?" John muttered shaking the memory of the dead man from him. John now shifted his own weight moving to stand next to his friend, so they both leaned against the support of the metal hull, he tried focusing on staying ahead of his own pain. Refusing to acknowledge it, as it pinched at his side, causing him to catch his breath.

"Heard them talking while they questioned me." Sherlock's clumsy drunk like movements didn't help him stand on his own, he quickly leaned back onto the cold hull. The moonlight reflected against dark eyes blinking rapidly, then shaky hands wiping and rubbing at them in frustration. John frowned seeing the makeshift finger splint he'd hastily fashioned for Sherlock's broken ring finger and pinky, at least their captors hadn't cut the appendages off as threatened. "Why is everything spinning?" irritably said, causing John to smile despite himself, knowing this a sign that his friend was coming to. "Hard to think with this blasted spinning."

"Ok, Switzerland. Bloody hell! Switzerland!" John read the cargo container the two now leaned against and as usual no surprise Sherlock was right and they were in Switzerland.

"John is it necessary to yell?" more irritation, good.

"Oh, sorry its just-never mind." He peered over his shoulder hearing the sounds of nearing trucks, trucks or vans no doubt they'd figured which direction he'd headed in. The ex soldier only had a hand gun and a hunting knife, his clumsy hands checked the slide, "yup one bullet. Fuck!" he swore to himself. Well at least they had something. After all, that's all he could manage on such short notice, compliments of their recently deceased interrogator.

Ok, weapons inventory; check, plan of action; take the mobile with the low battery call Mycroft hope he can track the signal before the damn thing dies. Give Sherlock the gun incase they get passed me, I'll keep the knife. "Sherlock look at me-" he held his friend's face in his cold hands, examining it in the dim light of the moon.

Thankfully a bright, full, clear night, no clouds maybe a good signal for the phone, things would look up. "Sherlock, I'm going to call Mycroft. Then maybe we can find a car that's leaving this place, stow away and hope to god that your big brother can triangulate the signal before the hit squad comes to collect. Now, let me look you over, do you know what they gave you?" Sherlock tried to stand now,

"I'm dizzy-no idea but it seems to be wearing down. Thought they said they'd wait so I would be awake for further interrogation. John why are we in a Swiss train yard?"

"Well, it was either go left to the heavily wooded forest, or right to a means of escape. Seeing how you weren't much help I had no choice but to make the decision on my own. I opted for the train station."

"Makes sense. No signal in the woods although we'd have more cover, it would make it harder to be found and not to mention hungry predators." Sherlock pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes clasped tightly shut.

"Yeah, well I'm just playing it by ear." He ran a hand over his friend's torso, broken ribs, bastards. He winced sympathetically and suddenly grateful Sherlock wasn't completely alert to these injuries.

John had tried these last two days to keep their abductors more focused on himself, but that only lasted a bit. Seeing how they wanted Mycrofts attention and what better way then to send video footage of a big burly man beating the government officials defenseless little brother.

The only reason John had been allowed to live was to doctor the consulting detectives injuries, seeing how a fatal injury had taken out their own on base doctor. John felt no remorse for shooting the man square in the heart, it was either that or let him use that scalpel on his very conscious friend, as an attempt at a warning to Mycroft, a statement that they meant business.

Well John had mucked that up for them, served them right the sodden idiots. He'd managed to temporarily free himself from the hold of the big toad, catching them all by surprise; he'd disarmed Mr. Toad. (the brute's lack of neck, his bald head, bulky shoulders, and wide mouth made him resemble said creature)who by the way insulted him by not even thinking to tie John's hands up. No, that toad somehow assumed that Doctor John Watson was weak and not a threat.

Something John gladly proved wrong more than once first after disarming Toad man and then shooting Doctor Scalpel, another shot took out the other goon holding a hog-tied Sherlock.

That's as far as John Watson got before some other bastard tackled him from behind, dammit he'd been so focused on those in the line of sight it hadn't occurred to him that anyone else would have been in the seemingly abandoned warehouse, of course a fight ensued. The familiar click of a cocked weapon ready to fire, made him freeze, one of the other men he'd shot in the legs was up holding his semi automatic to John's head.

"Very stupid Doctor, we were going to let you die quick. But now I think we have fun torturing you. Then I think we kill you!" this was coming from the cameraman, obviously the brains for lack of better word of the group..

"Well that wouldn't be wise, seeing how he just shot your only doctor and you have injured men to worry about." Sherlock's eyes locked on Johns, a silent thank you exchanged between the two.

"He's got a point boss." The new player that tackled John kept a tight hold on the man, digging a knee into the doctors back, now taking out his handcuffs wrenching the doctors hands behind him. John's war injured shoulder screamed in protest, but he bit back any sound.

"Fine." The leader snapped, looking at the broken camera at his feet, "This is why I think mobile phones are so much more useful." He sighed taking out his own camera phone and sent a swift kick to the side of Sherlock's head, causing John to struggle against the hand cuffs.

"Bastard!" John growled trying to start forward.

"No worries doctor, he'll live. You can check him over yourself." Camera phone man laughed sending the video file with a text to an unknown contact. Then he threw the phone onto the cement by the unconscious Sherlock, stomping on it.

"Get him to a cell, and show the Doctor to the infirmary. Light that on fire. I'm going to need a new phone. Pity I liked that one. I owe you for that one Doctor, I rather had become attached to the new iphone."

"Oh, they'll be out with another one next week no doubt. Maybe it'll have an app for stupid" John received a hard punch to the gut rocking him to his knees. At least from where he stood, Sherlock was fine, unconscious and they wouldn't be stomping on his vulnerable form just yet.

Now after John had disarmed Mr. Toad yet again days later, he'd managed to get them this far. Sherlock was all right, just some scrapes, bruises, a few broken fingers and ribs but nothing too serious.

Taking a deep breath John scanned the box cars lined up on the three different tracks, finally finding an open boxcar, there were several trains in the yard engines going, this was as good as any, he hoisted his friend up. They were going to make it. "Here Sherlock, take the gun, it has one bullet left." He panted whispering frantically pressing the weapon into his confused friend's hand.

John cringed clutching at his side, damn the bandages he'd wrapped around the wound felt sticky with the blood already starting to soak through, he hissed now, adrenaline starting to drop. He couldn't pull himself up the pain was starting to wear at him.

"John?" Sherlock's worried voice cut through the weariness seeping into the Doctor's tired bones.

"Its alright Sherlock, move to the back of the car into the shadow." Breathless, dammit, just needed some energy.

John had dragged and half carried a drugged Sherlock five miles to this train yard, on three hours of sleep and a day with no food, managing to keep his energy, he'd only stopped once to check Sherlock's vitals and of course to quickly stitch himself up with the small med kit he'd lifted from the kidnapers infirmary. All that seemed to finally be catching up to him at a very inconvenient time.

"Mycroft" John croaked into the stolen Iphone, not waiting for any other answers. "Don't. I mean-tell them you don't negotiate with terrorists-" he chuckled despite himself.

"John? What the hell-" John heard the men nearing, the trains on both sides of him were starting to move and just as quick he made the decision or rather it was made for him, knowing he'd be visible soon. "I don't know where we are, but come get him. He'll be all right. "

"John? I'm locking on to the signal. John-" Mycrofts voice sounded distant but John didn't care, " We are in Switzerland if that helps. On a train. Thought I'd make the decision easier for you Mycroft Holmes. Government official, brother of a mad genius detective." He sighed now "tell him-well Goodbye Mycroft."

"John?" and John tossed the mobile into the boxcar, he must of hit Sherlock cause he heard him groan. "Sorry." He mumbled and then cut away from the moving car, starting to gain speed. He needed to put distance between them so they couldn't guess which train the detective had been put on.

The Doctor moved as if going to grab a railing of another end car, the one going the opposite direction of Sherlock's thus buying the drugged man some time.

Mycroft was quick and he'd find his annoying little brother within an hour, maybe thirty minutes, but John would give him this head start.

"There he is!" he heard someone shout, "Stop that train!" another growled John smiled knowing his plan worked. It didn't matter, he was loosing blood faster, if he were lucky he'd be unconscious by the time they really got down to the more painful methods of their torturing techniques.

"Goodbye Sherlock-" he mumbled as one of the kidnappers in black tackled him hard, his whole body thrown to the frozen train yards gravel floor, and thankfully he blacked out.


	2. THE PECULIARITIES OF FRIENDSHIP(5days before Switzerland)

**CHAPTER TWO. THE PECULIARITIES OF FRIENDSHIP**

**( A week before The Train Yard)**

"Sir the reports you asked for." The brunette in her usual black suit skirt waited patiently holding out a thick file folder, marked confidential, in her other hand she held a blackberry and continued to use her thumb to text replies to the many contacts that were feeding her information, and of course requests.

When the file hadn't been taken she looked up surprised "Sir?" her usually prompt and stoic boss wasn't in fact paying attention, his face was turned to a computer screen, and he was smiling? An unusual smile a grin almost.

Normally one would be frightened by such an act; obviously someone was about to cease all existence on paper, on computer and well in any form really. Oh dear, more paperwork and overtime, but no-maybe not. She leaned over slightly to see what Mr. Holmes was doing, odd, he was watching something.

Her eyes shot over to another screen his laptop, looked like the bloggers web site, yes that Captain John H. Watson a Doctor, formerly of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers. Another screen held a real time image.

What could be so funny, that it captures the boss' attention and draws out a smile?

Mycroft didn't hear his assistant when she'd entered, his eyes stayed glued to the computer screen where two images where having an interesting conversation. Mycroft felt like an eavesdropper but he couldn't tear himself away from reading the lips of the two men, he'd wished for sound but all listening devices his brother had already found and this was one of three hidden camera's that his brother was yet to find.

"John who says that he cant be the murderer the clues are all there even a child could make the simple deduction-"

"Sherlock! THERE IS NO WAY THE VICTIM CAN BE THE MURDERER!"

"Why not?" Sherlock is crossing his arms over his chest, perching with his feet under him frowning down at the Cluedo board.

"It's the rules!" John is shaking his head moving now from his chair into the kitchen.

"The rules are wrong then John. Clearly." Exasperated Sherlock shakes his head as if trying to explain simple arithmetic to a child. "It all makes sense John, just listen-"

"Sherlock, I don't care how many times you explain it, _you're_ wrong." The shorter man hands his flatmate a cup of hot tea. "Two sugars."

Sherlock smiled taking the cup the game board temporarily forgotten, "Mrs. Hudson brought up some fresh biscuits." John placed a plate on the Cluedo board, he turned away smiling to himself, argument averted with Tea and biscuits, thank you Mrs, Hudson.

Mycroft chuckled despite himself, how did the Doctor do it, not only was the man patient beyond Sainthood, but he could also divert his brother like a nanny would a boisterous child. Who was this man? Why did he care?

Of course Mycroft could see John Watson did in fact care, he'd proven himself beyond a doubt that Sherlock was his friend. Mycroft doubted his own brother's feelings towards the other man, although after reviewing these tapes he found himself questioning his primary observation.

"John!" Sherlock watched as his friend wrestled a suspect, a very large criminal street name the Mule. Sherlock had chased the Mule, into the dead end of the alley expecting him to give up seeing the consulting detective had a gun and blocked the only exit, but he hadn't anticipated the brute to charge forward knocking him hard against the dirty cement, the gun flying out of his hand. Before he could even think to strike a hard fist caught him square in the abdomen, the thin detective gasped for air, grunting in pain. He readied himself for another hammy fist but it never came, opening his eyes he realized the heavy weight of the Mule had been relieved.

John Watson had tackled the man with the skill of a uni rugby player. To Sherlock's surprise and later Mycrofts, the smaller man held the suspect in a tight choke hold, the Mule was trying to fling John from him, but the doctor held tight, refusing to release him even as the big brute threw himself back against the ruff brick of the alleys wall.

Sherlock coughed, then wincing at the sound Johns back made hitting the unyielding surface. But the ex army soldier held firm, finally after two more attempts at crushing the smaller man, the Mule started to turn red in the face and his eyes rolled up.

"Goodnight" John grunted only releasing the man when he fell face first onto the garbage littered alley floor. John pulled handcuffs from his pocket and cuffed the beefy armed assailant. Then he moved to the winded consulting detective his movement's stiff and Sherlock caught his friends sudden wince, but just as quickly John covered it up with a stern expression. "Sherlock? You alright?" Sherlock grimaced as his shorter friend checked his face for injury.

"John your head is bleeding." Sherlock stated, his flatemate didn't reply to this instead in the perfect Doctor 's no nonsense voice,( reserved for unruly sick children) John asked;

"Do you feel dizzy or nauseas? Any headache?" Sherlock shook his head.

"I'm fine- John your head."

"Its fine. I'm fine. You scared the hell out of me. What did I say? Don't go off without me!" He started to scold the taller man, halting suddenly. Sherlock watched his friend go white and he'd put a hand to the back of his skull, his fingers coming away sticky. "Damn when'd that happen-" the blond mumbled.

"John?" Sherlock caught his friend before he fell to his knees, definitely a concussion. By then DI Lestrade had arrived, and closely at his heels an aggravated Donovan, she was making herself useful by calling an ambulance.

"John, you a'right mate?" Lestrade kept his gun trained on the snoring criminal, his face turned to the doctor.

"Fine. I'm fine. As for you-" turning back to Sherlock, " I thought you were a gonner for sure." John muttered feeling sick. "What were you thinking Sherlock you of all people deduced he was a killer, thrilled in strangling, this is his territory. He'd of easily snapped your neck."

"John? You need to calm down. The case solved and the killer apprehended." Sherlock tried to lead his friend to the side of the road.

"You twat! You could have been killed. Scared the hell out of me!" Sherlock couldn't say anything but

"John-I think you might wish to see the paramedics. I do believe you've injured your shoulder. And your head is bleeding." The Doctor swore under his breath.

"Damn my head and shoulder-" But he didn't get any further before the consulting detective cut him off.

"I'm uh sorry. I was just caught up in the chase-" he noted the fight go out of the doctor.

"Sherlock _I think I do_ need to see the paramedics after all."

"John?" concern now more prominent.

"I thought I heard you apologize, now I know I hit my head."

Mycroft smiled again to himself, he'd kept all of these small recordings for data of course nothing else.

**One Morning:**

Sherlock stood up from his experiment glancing over at the time, 3 am, moving now quickly he removed his latex gloves tossing them in an overfilling wastebasket near the window.

Mycroft had watched the surveillance footage as his brother kept glancing up at the ceiling, it didn't take a genius to deduce what he was hearing even without sound.

Mycroft had read the file on Dr. Watson, PTSD, nightmares and occasionally this would lead to insomnia and more noticeable hand tremors. The interesting fact that the older Holmes caught on to, was his little brother during such occurrences, when these nights kept the Doctor thrashing in his bed maybe even calling out loudly. Sherlock would take up his violin, tune and tighten the strings, and he would-he would play. Indeed, Mycroft knew that it was something structured and calming. From the position of Sherlock's slender fingers and slow but crisp bow movements, it was no doubt something soft, soothing- Bach perhaps; Mycroft imagined the melodies spilling out from his brother's expert fingers.

And the oddest thing of all, Sherlock Holmes, the self diagnosed sociopath, would then move from the window to the bottom of the stairs leading to his flatmate's room. He'd play for twenty minutes several slow, comforting tunes and then he'd pause his head turned up towards the stairs straining to hear something, straightening his shoulders as if confident of a successful outcome he'd return to his microscope violin forgotten in the corner once more.

Mycroft realized, that his usually indifferent little brother, was playing for the restless Doctor, but the reason evaded him. Why would his brother care if the Doctor was having a night terror, maybe it interrupted his thought process? Then again Sherlock was an expert at blocking the world out and the fact that such restlessness upstairs would draw the arrogant young man out of his own musings, this startled Mycroft. How unusual, could it be his brother had a friend?

Returning again to the footage on his screen he couldnt help but laugh out loud the scene unfolding in front of him, his brother tearing up the recently tidied flat, how did the Doctor, a man of military orderliness, put up with such a slovenly flatmate.

"John! I KNOW THEY ARE HERE! Where are they?"

"Hmm, what?" said uninterested from over his newspaper.

Mycroft knew exactly what his brother was looking for having spied earlier the fact that John had come across a pack of cigarettes in his cleaning up of the cluttered living area.

The blond man had shaken his head, looked around cautiously and then with the stealth and quick vigilance of a soldier moved to hide the pack. Yes, it wasn't easy a task to hide things from a great mind of deduction like Sherlock but John always managed to come up with interesting hiding places, now why couldn't the man figure out a better password for his laptop, really the first level interns could crack it within a half minute.

Still this man took a plastic tupperware from the freezer clearly marked food placed the pack in it, pushing the container carefully behind the other food containers in the freezer just to the side of what one would guess was a severed arm and maybe a foot.

Now its hours later and Sherlock continued to plead, threaten and whine finally giving up he stomped over to the leather sofa and threw himself down. The good Doctor took a package of nicotine patches from the table next to his chair and tossed them over to his sulking friend.

Mycroft enjoyed these scenes, remembering as children how a young Sherlock would hide his favorite umbrella or stealing his wallet. Now, it seemed his dear little brother had met his match. Yes, and this fairly common looking man, was one not to be taken for granted.

"Sir?" his assistants voice cut through his thoughts, he quickly hit a few buttons his computer screen and laptop going back to reports of a more world political nature.

"Oh, yes thank you." He took the folder he'd requested moments ago clearing his throat, the brunette sighed as she continued to send out rapid texts.

"Anything else you need sir?" Mycroft turned back to his computer, shaking his head.

"No, that will be all."

"Yes sir." She took her leave and Mycroft Holmes found himself grinning once more. Having seen this footage more than once over the past couple years he only saved it once again not having the heart to delete the old file. Especially after his brothers three year hiatus he guessed that the two men would go their separate ways, but that Doctor fellow was full of surprises.

And that friendship after all had been the motivation needed for Sherlock to take the fall. To work with the British government in bringing down Moriarty's criminal web. All in thanks to an unlikely friendship. How peculiar friendship could be. It made men do the most of unlikely things, a dangerous thing friendship was, he himself hadn't really ever seen a practical use for it but it had been the advantage he needed in recruiting his unruly brother.


	3. BED SIDE MANNERS

**Chapter Three. BEDSIDE MANNERS**

"Awe, Doctor Watson you are finally awake. Good, good." A man with silver framed spectacles leaned over John, his cold eyes inspecting his patient's confused face.

"Where-" John groaned now, the lights in the room weren't bright enough to belong to a hospital or clinic, but why did it all feel familiar, something nagged at the edges of his mind. This blond man continued to look him over, John guessed right away that he was a doctor, the white coat a dead give away, or just the sixth sense that a doctor knew how to recognize a fellow physician.

"Oh, Doctor Watson, or John? Can I call you John?" the mans over friendly voice held a light accent, was he German or something- "No matter Doctor Watson. You've been injured pretty good I should think. Looks like Joseph caught you with his knife, probably the same one you stole from his dead body. A body you made dead by slitting his throat I think." The blond man smiled now, more menacing, and warning bells, the kind that screamed for John to move in the name of self-preservation started ringing loudly in his ears.

John tried to sit up or even move his arms he found he could not. "Oh yes, you see after the mistake that Henrick made underestimating your skill as a cohort and employee of Mr. Mycroft Holmes, we made sure we took necessary precautions in insuring your stay with us to be a little less what is the word you British like to use-awe yes distasteful."

John pulled on the heavy cuffs that secured his arms to the hospital cot. His eyes wide he tried to lift his aching head to at least survey the degree of _not good_ he'd managed to land in.

Seeing his feet similarly cuffed to cot, and the menacing thug holding an assault rifle and wearing green fatigues standing off to the side of a windowless steal door. Yes, the situation was just a bit more than not good.

Had Sherlock made it then? Did Mycroft get to him before he froze to death in the cold November weather? Mycroft, well at least the British Government wouldn't feel torn between the security of the nation or his annoyingly stubborn little brother.

"You'll be staying with us here for a while John. You see I am Doctor Fischer, but you can call me Ian or Doctor whatever you feel comfortable with. I am in charge of your treatment. It seems you've caught a nasty infection from that unclean wound. By the way you did a beautiful job sewing yourself up. I assume it was you from the angle of the stitches. Unfortunately as I said, you've caught a nasty infection. No worries though my fellow medical friend, I am supplying you intravenously with strong antibiotics. Soon you'll be cleared up. Till then I will manage the fever but of course not the pain. You'll forgive me if I feel a bit excited in the anticipation of you discomfort. After all you did shoot my dear brother through the heart. So, here I am to get you back on your feet so the boss will be able to question and torture you. He's promised I can watch. And even lend a hand. I am not as good as my brother was with a scalpel, he was the surgeon of the family but I'm sure I do posses some skill."

John pulled harder on his arms wishing to punch the smug look off of Doctor Crazy's face. But his strength wasn't at optimum, and from the feeling of his muscles aching and the way his body felt cold the infection would at least buy him a few days, and then they'd have fun pulling fingernails out or whatever it was that the torturing type did.

"Well I should of known you were related, he was an annoying bastard too." Doctor Crazy only smiled now and he pulled the white sheet that covered his patients shirtless upper half, John cried out unexpectedly when a sudden sharp pain shot through him. The Doctor had moved his cold skilled hand over the infected stab wound and squeezed the pinched flesh, blood and puss oozed and the pain made John's head swim and instant nausea nearly overcame him. He panted heavily trying to calm his breathing when Doctor Fisher removed his now blood stained hand. He went to wash himself at a sink in the corner calling over his shoulder in a self satisfied voice.

"It seems that will need to be drained more. If you'll excuse my not so delicate handling of the wound. But you understand, it must be flushed out."

"Fuck you." John growled through gritted teeth.

"Yes, well. I'll leave you to your penance. I suggest you make your peace with god, because when you're well enough we'll be handing you over to Der Metzger. Well, at least that's what they call him in his social circles, I believe the translation is The Butcher."

John refused to play into his own fear, his only hope now was that maybe out of some stroke of good luck or a miracle Sherlock or Mycroft would save him. Something that he knew to be unlikely due to the fact that Mycroft had no emotional investment in the friend of his brother and besides having Sherlock back was all he really wanted. John could understand not giving in to a terrorist over an ordinary army doctor.

"John?" Sherlock groaned something felt wrong, the train had started to move, he gripped the cold steal of the handgun, and something was definitely off. Damn this spinning, where was John?Near the door looking out? Yes, but the train was moving why hadn't he spoken? The detective squinted everything shifting around made his empty stomach turn,

"John?" pulling himself into a sitting position he could see the light of dawn coming up through the opened box car, the flash of scenery, not good for his disorientated vision. "Dammit John, you're a doctor cant you make this infernal spinning stop!" he growled. Still no answer, something wasn't right, how long had it been since he'd heard something, anything from his friend?

The sound of metal scrapping and grinding against cold steal rocked him forward from his musings, the train the boxcar was halting -stopping, the jarring motion made him even more aware of the singular loneliness of the practically empty boxcar.

Scanning the dimly lit area, Sherlock could see some straw bales, he was leaned up against one such bale, the metal doors of the boxcar open the sight of snowy terrain bright white against the raising sunlight.

"Sherlock! Sherlock Holmes!" someone yelled the British accent made him feel less tense, but still very suspicious. "Mr. Holmes! I know you're there! I'm coming in, your brother has sent us, and you've nothing to worry about! "

"State your name!" Sherlock held the gun trained on the opening, not feeling so displaced now, an annoying throbbing in his abdomen hinting at broken ribs among other things.

"Mr. Holmes, Sherlock. It's Agent Richards MI6. I'm unarmed. We're here to rescue you." Sherlock lowered the weapon a tall dark haired man in a cliché' black jump suit holding a riffle over his back appeared now. He spoke into his radio upon seeing the younger Holmes.

"Where's John?" Sherlock started to stand, damn the dizziness replaced by a throbbing headache, not much of a fair trade.

"Mr. Holmes we're ordered to get you to a secure medical facility." He hadn't answered the question, looking now at his surroundings he took note of a blood stained Iphone the battery signal beeping as 5 %. The blood caught his attention; someone helped him stand removing the gun from his frozen fingers. "You're safe now sir. Please come with us." Agent Richards took in the blood stains on the thin mans coat, and apparently the younger Holmes was aware of it as well. "Sir, are you injured?" Sherlock shook his head, a heavy feeling settling in the pit of his stomach.

"It's not my blood you dolt. Where the hell is John Watson?" He ran a hand over the buttons, flashes of memory started to leak through the fog of his mind. His eyes fell then on bloody fingerprints just on the edge of the boxcar. Hands, it didn't take a trained eye to guess- no, to know whose hands made those marks. Sherlock could visualize a blond man, struggling to pull himself up, unable due to his own mystery injuries. He was bleeding, but where, from what wound and where the hell was he?

**IN A SECRET GOVERNMENT HOSPITAL**

"I said I was fine! Where the hell is Mycroft!" Sherlock demanded pushing the nurses carefully manicured hands away, wrenching the blood pressure cuff from his own arm. "I 'm done here. Where is Doctor Watson? And I must speak to my brother."

"Sir, Doctor Fredrikson is a professional-he will be in to look you over and then someone will debrief you. Please-"

"Shut up! I will not wait for some trained monkey hired by my brother to come in to tell me my blood is saturated with sedative most commonly found in truth serum. He'll then go on to tell me I'll need to work it out of my system or some Doctor speak like that. I want TO SEE MY BROTHER-"

"Brother, please they're only trying to do their job. You are not helping." Mycroft cut the start of a tantrum off, his voice cool and calm.

"Oh, toss their job! Where the hell is John?" and from the look of his brothers guarded expression Sherlock read the worst. His heart pounded now in his ears, and his stomach twisted threatening to force up whatever liquids that remained in his belly. "I need to go." He moved off the hospital cot.

"Mr. Holmes that is impossible you've managed to break several ribs, there is a significant amount of-"

"Sod off!" Sherlock growled. He moved those intensely gray eyes on his brother. "You do understand this is your fault?"

"My fault?" Mycroft needed to buy time, he gave the doctor a quick look, he'd of course anticipated this reaction.

"Yes! I wasn't their primary target, judging from the line of questioning they knew I worked for you against Moriarty, knew I was your brother. They'd only kept John alive because he was a doctor. And they were in need of one. Again brother, they knew who I was, what I'd been up to the last three years in your employee. And they wanted to know more about our supposedly secret cell. I've deduced that I wasn't their primary target. They wanted something. So what? What was their primary demand? Hmm, money would be to simple besides they had enough by the look of their base and the weapons the mercenaries were armed with, ok, so not money, information then? But not from me, sure what they would of received had I given any up would maybe be nice but no I had a sickening feeling they want something you have. Or rather someone."

Mycroft frowned, damn him for always being able to read situations, even in the state he was in semi doped he'd come to an accurate conclusion and rather quickly.

"Sherlock-"

"Who!? Who is it Mycroft?" Sherlock demanded.

"It doesn't concern you any longer-"

"The hell it doesn't, don't forget that I've killed for you. I've killed-"

"Yes, and that was in part to insure that your friends would no longer be threatened. So don't give me the riot act, it wasn't exactly selfless."

"Who? Who do you have that they want?"

"General Schutze."

"No, he's dead-" Sherlock's expression changed quickly between shock, anger and then betrayal.

"We needed to extract more information-"

"You-I . I gave up three years of my life, three years to hunt down and demolish all signs of Moriarty's crime web, and The General was fourth in command, you gave me your word that he was dealt with. But now you're telling me you've kept him alive! For intel? Comprised intel no doubt. Who else knows?"

"No one but a select few, the rest of the world thinks him dead."

"Well obviously there is a leak brother mine!" Sherlock growled.

"I am working on it Sherlock but until then-"

"No! I wont be idle they have John they will kill him."

"Sherlock we aren't even sure the Doctor is still alive. They have no reason to keep him that way. It's over-"

"They were going to force you to chose between a cold blooded terrorist or the release of your brother. Which would you have chosen Mycroft?" Sherlock's voice was cold and angry. Mycroft couldn't meet his brother's gray eyes he settled for glaring off in a corner, clutching his own umbrella.

"It doesn't matter now what would have been decided Sherlock. It seems the good Doctor has made the choice for me. And his sacrifice to our country and our family wont be forgotten. I will not make it an empty sacrifice by allowing you to rush back into danger." Nodding now at the doctor who'd taken position behind the angry younger Holmes.

"You mean you've written him off as collateral damage? I wont let you do this. Not to John. He is our friend! He is my-" Sherlock didn't have time to continue to late he felt a quick pinch just behind him high on his hip, that damn doctor had drugged him, the familiar wave of forced sleep started to take affect.

"I told you so many times brother there aren't any advantages to sentiment or friendship. These things are possessions of the losing side. Now rest we'll continue this at a later date."


	4. MOTIVATION

**CHAPTER 4. MOTIVATION**

Mycroft could still hear his brother's angry accusations, of course he was concerned for the good Doctor's well being, shame that the British Military lost such a man to a career ending injury.

John could have made a significantly higher rank with another year in, but it wasn't to be. When John Watson had first became a blip on the Government servant's radar, he hadn't really given much thought into him, he wasn't much of thought provoking man really.

Ordinary in every way, from head to toe, he spoke politely, something Mycroft was very big on, manners these days were becoming some what of an extinct art of social communications.

No, the good Doctor had been more than ordinary, yes, he was in fact far from such things. The military could train a man to be ready, and aware, how to shoot and patch up a wound, how to be organized and everything else needed for survival on a battlefield, but it could not teach loyalty, bravery and morality. No just like manners these things were becoming hard to find in a man.

Somehow though, through some stroke of luck or grace of god, Sherlock Holmes consulting detective and sociopath had managed to not only find such a man but to befriend him.

Doctor John H. Watson, a former captain shot in the line of duty, known to run toward gunfire, to risk his life to save others.

That's what Doctor's were after all supposed to do, help the sick and injured. What a complicated individual that Doctor, and Mycroft had prided himself in deducing a man's heart, usually finding greed, selfishness, pride or some twisted pleasure that would raise an eyebrow or two.

But in John he found himself unable to locate the self-interested part, no he was more concerned with the well being of those around him. Dammit, why was this guilt nagging at him, is that what it was, guilt?

"Don't. I mean-tell them you don't negotiate with terrorists-." Johns words echoed in Mycroft's eidetic memory, and that chuckle from John that had followed his words even more bothersome. The image of the Doctor standing outside the boxcar placing a call, and chuckling at the reference of an inside joke all so disconcerting.

Mycroft found himself remembering that day a few weeks prior to this phone call.

_**~0~** _

"Sherlock your brother has asked us to take a case-"

"I'm not interested John." Said with a bored sigh.

"Sherlock-its for your brother." Patiently.

"John tell him I wont be bullied." Irritably.

"Sherlock he's asking not demanding." cooly.

"John, I don't negotiate with terrorists." Said of course in a normal huff.

"Sherlock Mycroft is far from a terrorist." Reproachful now.

"He terrorizes me." As a matter of fact.

"Sherlock." John now had a disapproving tone.

"John you didn't have to grow up with him." pouting.

And of course Mycroft had heard the humorous exchange, he'd been naturally standing there in the living area rolling his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose in irritation.

For Doctor Watson to reference that joke seemed somewhat irrational. Unless he found comfort like so many sentimental or nostalgic fools did, in making light of a dark situation. Yes, that was John Watson. Perhaps his way of saying it wasn't Mycroft's fault.

Communicating in his own way that he wasn't afraid or dishearten, he knew what he must do and the Doctor once again was thinking of those he would leave behind due to such a choice, those who would live and be saved.

And that soft chuckle was what forced Mycroft to chose a small glass vial from the third locked cabinet of the secret government lab. Marked simply SLOW ACID.

**~0~**

"Mycroft Holmes. Well this is a treat, it seems the Iceman has come to visit. I wonder what I owe the pleasure of such a luxury. A rare occasion indeed. I'd stand to greet you and offer my hand but well I seem to be chained to a chair. Oh well, anyway tell me Mycroft my old friend. Have you come to dirty your carefully manicured hands with my blood or is this a social call?"

Mycroft kept his usual mask of boredom in place, the prisoner one General Gunner Schutze formally of the German Army now a cold-blooded drug and arms dealer. Another king pen trying to rise up out of the ash of the destroyed Moriarty regime.

Mycroft had heard rumors of other players trying to seize power of the disassembled crime network. He couldn't let all that hard work his brother put in to go to waste. It was a logical move to see what intel they could gain from this man whose brother was known as the Butcher. It seemed The Butcher and his crew had started to gain power and in that the attention of Mycroft Holmes.

"Schutze."

"That's General Schutze. Or Gun if you wish. We are after all such old friends aren't we?"

"Hardly. And you lost that title when you defected to become a mercenary and then just another thug selling guns and drugs. " Mycroft eyed the unnaturally thin man, his prison diet thinning the detainee out. His face gaunt even the skin on his arms appeared thin and saggy. The orange jump suit at one time had been snug but now just like the skin under the mans chin it was just as loose.

"My feelings Mycroft-if I had some they'd be hurt right now." The man remained seated to the metal chair bolted to the middle of a windowless cell, barely enough room for Mycroft to enter. "So why are you here? If it's not to chat? Hmm, perhaps you've come to free me? A tiny little birdie has told me that your little brother had the fortune to meet my big brother. To bad I heard he made quiet the daring escape, but you already know that. Tell me was he unscathed? They don't call my brother the Butcher for no reason"

"Oh, I cant imagine what bird could find you here, locked so far down and deep in my dark dungeon, perhaps the better word is a snake. My brother is quiet well, thank you for asking."

"Liar." The other man narrowed eyes on the still bored Mycroft.

"Am I?"

"Oh, well too bad then. He'd of enjoyed the time with Jan. But that isn't the reason you're here is it? What would bring the king all the way down from his tower?"

the older man tried to look thoughtful a smile spreading across his face. "I did happen to hear that your brothers loyal Dog, or Doctor was captured as well. And an unfortunate thing that Dr. Fischer was killed by the Dog's hand. Oh, but Fischer has a brother too, one just as artful with his medical knowledge. I wonder if he will be as kind to your brother's friend as you've been to me?"

Mycroft scanned the room, he'd checked the surveillance no one in or out, only a food tray brought in and taken out. This man never left this isolation except to be interrogated. How was the information getting in?

"You'll never guess who the little bird is, or rather your snake in the grass. Just know that everyone, even the great Mycroft Holmes has a weak spot, some chink in the artfully crafted armor. So have you come to negotiate? I can say one thing, maybe if you let me go now, my brother will at least leave a body recognizable by dental records so the mans family could have him buried when identified. Maybe there will be something left for a coffin? No I don't think so. I guess it won't bother you to have your brother's loyal dog mailed home in pieces. Perhaps your little brother could motivate you better to end it quickly for his friend."

Mycroft didn't form a reply he stepped out of the room, and one of the guards came into the small cell to pull the prisoner from his chair. The man stumbled unused to standing his bare feet nearly slipping out from under his six foot frame.

"Interrogation room three. I have some questions for Mr. Schutze"

"Its General!" the other man twisted around in his jailer's arms.

"Yes, well Schutze I do have a few questions for you. I think I'm going to rather enjoy our chat, especially after your dull speech. Wish I could say the same for you." Mycroft gave his best artificial smile the prisoner only swore in his home tongue. Mycroft kept his eyes on the food tray in the corner, he went to the food bowl, nothing fancy just a plastic its contents emptied out, and something caught his eye. If one wasn't looking, then one wouldn't of noticed it. But Mycroft wasn't just anyone; he smiled at one of the guards standing near the exit, handing the empty tray to him.

"Will you have the prisoners next meal brought to me in the interrogation room?"

"Yes sir right away sir." The young guard saluted and hurried off, Mycroft headed towards the interrogation room now, he had some questions and he rather looked forward to the process of answers.

The blond man had his hands cuffed in front of him, his bare feet cuffed to a long skinny chain linking his wrists tightly, all to restricting much movement, still it was a welcome from being in the chair. Sleep deprived green eyes watched Mycroft curiously from across the metal table.

"I wont need to know what the snake is. So lets just save some time, I want you tell me where your brother is."

"What makes you think I'll do that? I would never give my brother up."

"Oh, I wasn't assuming it would be easy. But I know in the end, and I do say this from experience, that you will gratefully give me the answers I want. Perhaps a demonstration." Mycroft nodded to one of the muscular guards waiting just at the door to the large interrogation room, a two sided mirror looming just to the left high above, but Mycroft wasn't going to observe, no not this time.

He needed to know things, and quick, this of course had nothing to do with the fact that this mans brother had kidnapped his own, and probably murdered a good man or at the very least John Watson was still alive but the chances of this grew slimmer and slimmer as time pasted.

The food deprived terrorist General struggled fruitlessly against the clean shaven guard's hard grip, Mycroft took out a vile from his pocket, he shook up the contents in the small glass tube, the colorless liquid appearing to be deceptively harmless. Carefully removing the lid; the guard then locked a hand around the detainee's forearm pushing his own weight into the thin prisoner, receiving the desired effect of holding him still.

Mycroft allowed a few drops out of the glass vile with the attached dropper. The surprised scream from the hardhearted General was exactly the desired reaction.

Schutze squirmed against the metal table, good thing it was bolted to the ground or it would have been tipped over. The metal chair scraped against the hard tile of the room, and Mycroft was glad for the drain in the flooring. This might get messy, motivating stubborn men always was.

"Shall we test a theory on your pain threshold?" Mycroft spoke lightly. As he did this he thought of his brothers cold, angry words. The smell of burning flesh didn't even register to him although the battle hardened soldier whom held the screaming mans arms still turned his face away to avoid to much of the stench. Acid burning a hole into the thin flesh of an already skeletal hand.

"Now, tell me. If I were your brother where would I hold up?"


	5. A PHONE CALL (BEFORE SWITZERLAND)

**CHAPTER 5. A PHONE CALL**

**( 2 weeks BEFORE SWITZERLAND)**

"Mycroft old friend. I hear that you're looking for me. I also have discovered you Mr. Holmes have something that is mine." Mycroft Holmes Government official whose job title gave away nothing about his actual position in the British Government, had no doubt of the identity belonging to the slightly accented male voice on the other line. Also not many had access to this number, intriguing as well as troubling.

"Der Metzger, I presume. I would ask you how you managed to get this number but I imagine it would only be a waste of both our time." Small talk, an attempt to keep the man on the line so as to trace the calls location.

"Oh Mycroft, " an amused chuckle "Nice try, it's alright, you cant trace this call. Please give me some credit. I'm a little bit insulted. So enough with our pleasantries. Down to business."

"Interesting, and what business is that? I assume you're not calling to turn yourself over. So what then do I owe the honor of this phone call?" Mycroft allowed the boredom to drip into his voice.

"You know why I am calling Mr. Holmes. Mein bruder."

"Your Brother?"

"Yes Mycroft, I know you of all people, have mein bruder. I'm shocked that one such as yourself would not understand the position you've put me in. You of course force my hand."

"Oh?"

"Mycroft we both are very intelligent men, yes. So I will say this to you, leave my family alone and I should leave yours. From one big brother to another hmm. I know your pain." The accented voice gave a heavy sigh. _A bit over dramatic._ Mycroft thought to himself in irritation.

" My younger sibling, has always managed to find himself in less than perfect situations, aber my sweet mutti, did always favor him. So you see I must keep him safe. I was very distraught hearing he had been murdered, in fact this made me start planning on the slow demise of your own bruder. Now, seeing how Gun is very much alive I will spare your dear Sherlock, I believe that is his name. Anyway, I am a very generous man, so I will say again. Release mein bruder and I shall not be moved to send you another message. You know Mycroft, one should never employee family, it can cause for a very strenuous work environment."

Mycroft glared at his phone the line dead, protocols demanded that he trace the number and he knew it would be fruitless still he had it traced and as he deduced nothing. He glanced at his clock, noon, Sherlock would be in the morgue at St. Barts, with John seeing how they were wrapping up some murder case. He made a quick phone call to his observation team.

"I'm going to need surveillance status code red alpha implemented."

"Yes sir, very well sir."

"Do you have the position of my brother?"

"Yes sir, the younger Mr. Holmes is currently in the morgue with Dr. Watson. Should I send a car to escort them home personally?"

"Yes, be sure to keep your positions, clandestine as possible."

**_"Really Mycroft you should find smarter goons to employ. I recognized the damn cabbie right off. What's with the extra minions?" SH_ **

**_"Field exercise. Just humor me and stay within sight." MH_ **

**_"How dull. What kind of exercise would that be?"SH_ **

Mycroft sighed as his phone then rang, "Sir, we lost him." Of course he thought to himself, why would my brother make this easy. He contemplated informing Sherlock of the possible threat, but that would lead to other questions and Mycroft wanted to avoid those uncomfortable queries as long as possible. So he sent another text to a more reliable and trustworthy alley.

**"See you soon."MH**

Dr. Watson looked down at the text a frown forming on his brow, he'd just exited the cab and was trying to pay the cabbie who for some reason had declined payment, the dark haired young man did have a look of pity on his clean shaven face. Probably from the one sided but exhausting conversation that Sherlock held on the way from the morgue, then just as suddenly jumped out of the cab at busy intersection shouting "See you back home!"

"Good luck mate." The cabbie then pulled away leaving a very puzzled John, and right on cue a black car with heavily tinted windows pulled up.

"I am not in the mood to be kidnapped." He mumbled getting into the car without any other objection. He nodded to the distracted brunette wondering what her name would be today; over the past couple years it had been a game to make up names for the woman with the blackberry glued to her thumbs. "Fancy meeting you here Suzy." Her perfectly shaped eyebrows arched hearing her new name today.

"Yes Doctor Watson always a pleasure."

"So where are we off to today? I do have a shift at six, so I hope your boss is going to wrap this up quickly." She didn't reply.

"Doctor Watson, so good of you to join me." John didn't respond he only took a seat in front of the antique style oak desk , " _the Diogenes club, alright"_. He thought to himself, _"it cant be too serious."_

"John I know you have a shift at the hospital in a few hours, I'm sure you were hoping to catch a few hours of sleep before then. So I'll keep it short, I've spoken with DI Lestrade, so now I m speaking to you. I need Sherlock to take a little holiday from cases for at least a few weeks."

"Oh, Mycroft what have you done?" John shook his head, "What trouble have you and Sherlock created now?" It never ceased to amaze the older Holmes, John Watson was far more observant than he was given credit for. John's blue eyes studied Mycroft's emotionless face. When no answer was forthcoming John only stood up and smiled sadly,

"Alright, alright I 'll save us both the time. I know you're a busy man and I'm simply a means to an end. So what do you need of me?" Again Mycroft found himself surprised, twice in a day by the same man, interesting. He realized again that there was far more to Dr. John Watson, only confirming the reason Sherlock chose this man as a friend. He was far from dull, despite his run of the mill appearance.

"Recent developments John, you understand, all of a confidential nature."

"Of course." John straightened his shoulders, standing stiffly as any soldier at attention.

"I just need to be sure you will keep my brother close. Something that could be made easy if you only stayed off any cases that would take you out of my line of sight."

"He doesn't do well with house arrest Mycroft you know that. Why not just amp up your security men, and let him have his work. You know how he gets if he is idle, and you and I both know Mrs. Hudson's wall cant take it. I suggest you tell Lestrade to keep all case request close to home and whatever it is that has you spooked, you at the very least let Sherlock know."

"It isn't as easy as that John. But I will take your suggestions into consideration." John sighed knowing a _Dismissed soldier_ command as any.

"You wont. But you do understand I'll have to tell him about this meeting. If you believe he's under any kind of threat I think it best to let him know. Maybe he can help."

"No, John. I've already taken three years from my brother and I promised him this last time I would not make any similar requests."

"That was hardly your fault Mycroft. I know he understands that. Moriarty was a psychopath. Whatever Sherlock did to bring down that man's empire wouldn't have been possible without the two of you working together. I don't know what you two have been up to in the past three years, but I do know that when one of you is threatened both of you are in danger. So, I'm assuming you have received a death threat and it's against Sherlock's life, obviously. However you think you can successfully deviate any perils that your enemies would try to commit against Sherlock. I am guessing here, that it has to do with national security." Mycroft leaned forward in his throne like chair behind the large desk, his hands under his chin in a familiar gesture; John concentrates on not laughing at the family resemblance.

"Go on Doctor Watson please." The doctor sighs now, hearing the familiar amused tone that sometimes Sherlock takes when John's taking a stab at deduction, he is trying not to sound irritated but all the same he does anyway.

"I know it would have to be a threat of a personal nature and seeing how, no offense by the way, you Mycroft Holmes Government Employee, your work is your life and you have such an obscure _minor_ position in her majesty's administration you've manage to acquire quiet the long line of enemies." John's sarcastic undertones made Mycroft's eyebrows rise, the Doctor continued on uninterrupted.

" Mostly terrorist my guess. One wouldn't need to be a Holmes to assume that some one has managed to figure out that you have a mad genius for a little brother, and that is your only possible weakness. Lucky for them he is an easy target or at least appears, obviously due to the nature of his own lifestyle and career choices. That said, I understand the need for confidentiality I also have come to realize through past experience that any time you two are left to come up with a plan that usually doesn't involve me, someone is jumping off a roof and faking their death. So to avoid all of that I will simply say; Yes Mycroft Holmes I will keep an eye on your mad little brother. I will try to convince him if not for his safety but yours and that of British National Security he needs to, just this once, **comply**." John sighed running a hand over his face, he felt tired it had been a long week and balancing this case they'd just closed with work was starting to wear on him, so he finished, sounding deflated.

" All I ask is that whatever plan the two of you devise you let me know if someone's going to fake a death again. I cant pretend to understand the way you Holmes brothers think I having just the brain of an ordinary man, but do me the favor and courtesy of a heads up. " he smiled not waiting for a reply "Good day Mycroft."

Mycroft's gray eyes followed the retreat of the shorter blond man, the way he turned to leave, his steady pace like a march, that was John Watson, solid, rational and loyal.

"No, John Watson you are no Holmes." He thought to himself but that wasn't necessarily a bad thing. He could always trust in John's loyalty, sentiment and friendship when it came to Sherlock, the man would keep his brother anchored and somewhat compliant. Now he could focus on finding a Butcher.


	6. THE ESCAPE (Part 1)

**CHAPTER 6 THE ESCAPE (Part 1)**

Sherlock moved quickly unnoticed down the compounds corridors, idiots, to busy with their daily goings on to wonder what a plain clothes civilian would be doing down in the secure areas. But then again, if one just put a face of impassive authority, the worker ants kept on with their duties like good little soldiers. Sherlock had learned to blend into the background, to merge into a crowd of people and be easily forgotten. He'd honed these skills as a survival tactic during his little hiatus.

He clung to his brothers ID card in his coat pockets, someone had brought his coat to him dry cleaned, probably hoping he'd forgotten the blood stains, but he couldn't, he would never forget the splotches on the buttons. John had thought to fasten those buttons, to keep Sherlock warm and the whole damn time the sentimental fool was injured, bleeding, bad enough that it stained his hands and his clothes enough so the slight contact with Sherlock's coat transferred the sticky liquid from the wound to the coat.

From the position of the stains, Sherlock guessed the wound was to the lower left right under his friend's ribcage. Hopefully missing the liver and lungs, had John been breathing normal? He couldn't remember, everything was a blurred flash of drowning lights, sounds and colors.

Sherlock did however remember the interrogation, the way John kept antagonizing their captors, so unlike the usually patient man. Normally, and from experience, John Watson would keep calm, and wait for Sherlock to figure out an escape plan. But this John Watson only shouted abuse and some very interesting nouns that Sherlock had made a note to question where John had picked up such a shocking vocabulary.

He used the key card, checking the time on his Rolex, Mycroft would be alerted at some point, but he gave these security monkeys about 30 minutes at most before they noticed anything off, seeing how Mycroft was on base somewhere and no one would question that he would see the prisoner. A prisoner that should have been executed a year and a half ago, once again the Government proving just how trustworthy it could be.

He nodded to the two soldiers passing him, they half drug half carried a man in a kitchen staff uniform towards a cell. The thin bald man was pleading his case, but Sherlock didn't care to listen, this did not affect him, he had his mindset and he would see his plan out. Even if the outcome meant imprisonment, and if John Watson was already dead-no Sherlock refused to contemplate this result. John his friend was not dead, they would definitely have tortured him but John would hold on hope, he was waiting for Sherlock to come through and Sherlock would not let his friend down.

Sherlock after all had brought down Moriarty and his regime of cold calculating killers, drug cartels, human traffickers, arms dealers, terrorists and assassins; he'd helped hunt them all down. And even killed with his own hands, tortured and whatever means of extracting information he needed. All that time he felt the purpose driving him forward, the idea that a threat hung over his friends-his only friends. Friends, that's what John Watson had pointed out to him, John discovered the sociopath's heart.

And John was a good man, patient and sentimental but he was a reminder to Sherlock a constant daily reminder even out there during the three years of darkness, John was the prompt of what Sherlock had to loose if he failed. This time was no different; he would not fail John, just as John would never fail him.

He came to the cell he needed at the end of the corridor, several cells for top priority prisoners lined the wall all no bigger than a small broom closet, and windowless. He could tell by lack of guards at the other doors that those cells where empty, all except the end cell. To Sherlock's surprise there were three guards at the door two armed and one in particular unarmed but in uniform, this one gave him a look of recognition.

"Mr. Holmes." Sherlock knew him, he'd been one of the men on the last mission, the one to capture General Schutze. A medical tech of some sort, a nurse, yes he assisted a field doctor in patching Sherlock up from a gunshot just above his hip.

"Private Williams." He nodded stiffly.

"Sir. It's Sergeant now. I see you've come to visit the prisoner. The Doctor is almost through cleaning him up. I don't know why he asked for my assistance, the room is no bigger than a cupboard, and anyway I'm only a nurse. But protocol." Sherlock forced a smile the young private or sergeant now, reminded him of John, he'd actually mistaken him for John in his injured state the first time they'd met.

"Yes. I shall come back."

"No, sir just give them a minute." The nurse looked at the two bigger men, "Take a 15 break guys. I'll cover this." One of the stockier of the two a soldier with a rather ugly scar running from his left cheek down to his jaw line replied sternly,

"We have our orders sir." He clearly didn't like taking orders from a medical officer, Sherlock could hear the edge in his voice, the other guard could care less, he had the twitch of a smoker, the way his hands tapped the butt of his gun. Late for a cigarette break, yellow stained his fingers, not a hard deduction, Sherlock understood his pain.

"Yes, and I understand that. But I have mine as well." Sherlock stood his full height turning on the scarred man, "I'm sure you can appreciate the situation." This man a die hard soldier, British. Unlike the other guard part of the Swiss army just putting his time in, he didn't feel comfortable in the secret military run base a mix of British, Swiss and other European soldiers all under one compound roof made for more than tense language misinterpretations. Sherlock deduced the man was only taking over for someone else who had failed at his or her position and this young officer had been pulled in to stand guard on short notice.

So Sherlock concentrated on the older scarred officer, summing up what he could use in his verbal arsenal to get through this obstacle. He was deciding to stick to a quick and completely fabricated but believable story.

"We were told to stay put till further orders came from up top. Sorry sirs but we aren't leaving this post." The Doctor took this moment to exit the room, he halted seeing Sherlock.

"Ah, Mr. Holmes glad to see you up and well. Bloody shame about your friend what was his name, Jim, Josh-" Sherlock's jaw clinched.

"Sir, Captain John Watson. Sir." Sherlock found he was caught off guard by Sergeant Williams' knowledge of John.

"Right, well unfortunate thing. He was a doctor as well, shame, poor fool wouldn't stand a chance I'm afraid we doctors are bloody useless on a battlefield." His attempt at humor and sounding remorseful was lost on Sherlock but the young Sergeant once again catching the danger cues smiled evenly.

"Sir, when you are done here, the Brigadier is wishing a word." The Doctor frowned shaking his head, he held his medical bag at his side sighing irritably.

"Ah the glamor of being an army Doctor, treating acid reflux. Thank you Private. Mr. Holmes." The Sergeant saluted and waited for the man to leave, not bothering to correct him.

"Sir, he is an ass sir. I apologize for his-" Sherlock felt a grin start on the edge of his lips despite the situation.

"Don't bother. He's just a pathetic excuse, who has never seen real battle, and has spent his life working the dungeons of military bases treating athletes foot and upset stomach of the higher ups who themselves sit behind desks and send others to do the dirty work. He's also divorced twice and his children refuse to see him due to the fact they find him to be an idiot, and I can see they are quiet accurate in their findings. " The Sergeant laughed despite himself, and Sherlock caught the sound of the other two guards trying to cover up their reactions with a hard cough.

"Again, sir. I was sorry to hear about Doctor Watson. I've never met the man but I did have an older brother that served under his command. He saved Thomas' life and his arm. I only heard his name mentioned when they brought you in. I had hoped to thank him personally. He has quiet the reputation. It is never easy when a man is left behind in the heat of battle." Sherlock found it difficult to speak.

"I think I'll take that cigarette break." The diehard British soldier saluted and his companion followed suit. Sherlock understood what just happened, there was that unspoken respect soldiers had for each other, even an absent John Watson could drawl this out of fellow soldiers.

"I'll give you a minute Sir. If you need I'll be in the infirmary, the guards will be back in 15, but I have a feeling the ones at the east entrance will be taking a cigarette break in that time as well, also they've been known to leave keys laying around to the Jeeps." Sherlock watched the man give a thin smile and he started to leave only to pause briefly.

"Sir, one more thing. We are trained to treat the sick and injured to patch them up and get them back on their feet to continue the fight. I've seen men endure more than one would think humanly possible, all in the name of hope, hope that they'd survive this if they could hold on just a little longer until help arrived then all would be for not." Sherlock watched the Sergeant take his leave; no doubt such a young officer would climb fairly quickly in rank. He had no more time to continue on this train of thought, he needed to find John and the man who would help him was behind those doors.

"Hello there Schutze. I see your looking a little peeked, maybe you're in need of a holiday." Sherlock could see the mans hands and feet had been bandaged and from the smell of his wounds it could only be acid, not a particularly pleasant interrogation. The pail bruised face looked up at him through one good eye the other swollen black and shut. He spit blood out at Sherlock's booted feet.

"Wondered when you'd turn up." Sherlock took out his lock pick. "You here about your lost dog?" the man dared to chuckle regretting this as it caused him to wince, maybe fractured ribs, Sherlock guessed. Whomever did the interrogation definitely a true professional. Judging by the prisoners face, he took it very personal and lost patients judging by the acid burns on the mans feet, still this stubborn detainee hadn't given in.

"You better hope my friend is still alive Schutze or you'll wish that it was acid I used on you before delivering pieces of your dissected corpse to your brother." Sherlock sneered at the injured man, moving to unlike his hands.

"Well its nice to know my family isn't the only one with the predisposition for violence. "


	7. CONVERSATIONS WITH MAD MEN

**CHAPTER 7. CONVERSATIONS WITH MAD MEN**

"How exciting today will be, for you, especially I think." Doctor Psychopath had removed most of the tubes and John would almost certainly would have nightmares concerning catheters for the rest of his life, but he had enough time to think, and all that thinking brought him to the conclusion that; A. This was a bit more than _not good_. B. This was going to hurt C. Going to hurt a lot and finally D. A week had passed no sign of rescue not that anyone would know where to look he hadn't really truthfully held out too much hope.

"Here are some clothes for you Doctor, please hurry, I fear Der Metzger is not exactly being of the patient type." John looked the clothes over, just a pair of beige cargo pants, and a gray t-shirt. "I picked them out so you are as comfortable as you can be in your position. No worries Doctor Watson, they are clean, the man who donated them will not be needing them anymore." John didn't ask, and without hesitation he changed quickly, knowing they weren't going to let him change privately, in fact a big bald neckless man, most likely the Toad's replacement, held a gun on John, after uncuffing his hands and feet so he could dress.

"Nothing funny shrimp."

"Shrimp? Shrimp? Oh great originality that's brilliant of you mate." John grumbled. The big toad started forward but the Doctor halted his actions.

"Not now Gustav. We can not be late." The bald neckless man sneered, John ignored him pulling on the warm clothes. His wrists stung as did his bare ankles but it did feel good to be standing, even if his legs felt a bit rubbery. He was then led down a drafty hallway, dim lights, ok, underground he guessed, still in Switzerland most likely.

He didn't see any other guards in passing, and then the end of the corridor opened up into a bigger warehouse, several military vehicles parked near an exit, some crates and large bins, marked explosives in three different languages, the crates he recognized the Farsi words for _Firearms and Ammunition,_ also for, _handle with care._ He watched as some men dressed in the black shirts and camo pants loading what looked like explosives, and he knew something of explosives, having been strapped in a SEMTEX vest in the past.

These men moved carefully, something else about the bins they were loading. The wooden crates looked like normal military shipment boxes, until one of the men wearing a black beret held a stencil in his hands, and with a can of spray paint he marked the boxes.

**PROPERTY OF THE U.S GOVERNMENT.** Then under those words he placed a smaller stencil that John could read as;

**COMMISSARY.**

One of the men who had carefully placed explosive into a crate was smiling and making a mock salute. "Hey don't forget the flag. It will look more official."

"Shut up Fredrick they don't have flags on their boxes. Go finish the explosives we are on a timetable. Make sure you use the right stencil, the one for the English."

"Hurry up Shrimp!" the toad pushed him forward, John's feet and hands cuffed together made it difficult to move more than a weary shuffle, even that seemed to be draining him.

"I was hoping to enjoy the tour of your secret terrorist base. Do you think we can rest here? I'm actually feeling a bit under the weather." Gustav grabbed John by the crook of his arm and proceeded to drag the smaller man. John tried to relieve some of the pressure in his shoulder by clutching to the meaty forearm and then attempting to pull himself up while back pedaling only to fall clumsily against the bigger mans hip his hand grabbing the big bastards waistband for balance..

John was given a hard shake and then grabbed by the collar of his shirt, not much more comfortable he was flung forward, John curled into a ball groaning. "Ok, ok, I'll walk- I'll walk faster." Mr. Toad didn't catch the smile that played across his prisoners face, or the quick movement of his prisoner's cuffed hands placing a small key into his own pocket. A trick he'd picked up from Sherlock, it came in handy when he needed to return another ID of DI Lestrade's that a certain consulting Detective liked to collect out of sheer boredom. Poor Greg, always thinking he was misplacing the damn things.

"You had your chance doctor, this will be faster." John found himself hoisted into the air slung like a sack of potatoes over Gustav's shoulder, he grunted in discomfort.

"Well this isn't at all embarrassing."

"Its best you not talk." Doctor Psychopath sighed sympathetically. John ignored him and watched the movements of the other men as they continued to load a green truck, the side of the truck he watched as someone put a large magnet that held the Union Jack before they disappeared around a corner he watched the bastards placing another magnet over that, looked like a Swiss reservist flag. Mycroft would definitely be interested in this bit of intel, if only he could figure out how to get the hell out of here.

The Toad dropped John down none to gently in the middle of a room, he rolled winded, from the jolt and not to mention being carried like a sack his wound reopened slightly tearing at the stitches, he could see blood dotting his gray shirt, cant fix it now. Someone was yelling, angrily into a mobile phone, things were getting complicated.

"Put him in the chair Gustav." Gustav nodded at the German Doctor and hauled a breathless John over to a metal chair in the middle of the room, John noted the drain in the cement floor, and his stomach twisted guessing many reasons for a drain in the middle of such a room, again just another storage area maybe. A small metal desk neatly stacked papers and a closed laptop, an odd place for an office, he could see the camera on a tripod in the corner, oh so this was to be a show, oh joy.

"That is what you're paid for IDIOT! I don't want excuses, I need those packages delivered to the dock at the time specified! I've already killed today and that was because my coffee was late, and HE WAS MY SECOND COUSIN! Now just think what I will do to you!"

John's heart pounded now, wonderful another psychopath, it was becoming an occupational hazard at this point. He studied the man on the phone, none to impressive height than again when he judged height by using Sherlock or Mycroft not many people were notably taller in the height department. Damn his side ached, stomach growled after a week of liquid diet and intravenous nutrients fed to him he could really go for a steak with chips. He wondered how much weight he'd lost, the pants he'd been given he guessed once belonging to a second cousin of said psychopath, were for a slightly taller man than he, and had John been carrying his usual weight they'd fit perfect but these pants had slid on without needing to be unbuttoned.

So in a hand to hand he was at a disadvantage, he needed to procure a weapon, and than maybe through sheer luck get a vehicle make a break for somewhere not here and contact Mycroft or Sherlock. Something was about to be blown up, and he had a feeling those weren't edible explosives packaged carefully in straw.

"Oh, Doctor Watson at last we finally meet." This maniac had a clean-shaven face and military cut black hair, he wore a black suit judging by his shiny shoes he was a bit of a posh maniac. He straightened his silk tie, moving easily to stand in front of John.

"Pleasure." John replied sarcastically. The man ignored this and continued, John held the cold cobalt eyes with his own not showing fear, he refused to show fear.

"Silly me. My name is Jan, Jan Schutze, but my reputation has given me the name Der Metzger. The Butcher." He grinned proudly, John didn't understand his recent proclivity for smart-ass comments in the face of torture, perhaps it stemmed from being underestimated and constantly finding himself in said situations. The usual " _why are you doing this?_ Or _you don't have to do this_."

Had all been so played out over the past years, never working on Moriarty or any of the others that had come after or before. So John decided after Sherlock's return that he wouldn't ask the stupid questions anymore. Might as well cut to the chase. Talking to psychopaths, in Sherlock's words was _predictably dull._ And well John seemed to agree at this point; the little jump from the hospital roof had made him cynical so his reply;

"You're the butcher, so my guess is this is the baker and the no neck toad over there is the candlestick maker?" Jan didn't get the joke, but he nodded to Gustav who brought a heavy fist hard against John's jaw, knocking him and the chair over.

"Now Doctor, I am an impatient man, I believe in keeping to a time table, and so I've cleared some time in my diary for you."

"Great I'm flattered, I take my tea with milk no sugar." Gustav happily sent a hard kick to Johns back. Kidneys who needs two anyway, I've got another. John groaned, someone pulled him into the chair, if the movement from earlier hadn't opened the stitches, that love tap had done the job.

"The soldier type always so brave, or stupid I have yet to decide. Well the pleasantries aside," he started to remove his expensive black suit jacket, John understood this action only confirmed by the rolling of the white sleeves underneath.

"You Doctor have cost me. I am usually very thorough in my background checks. You see I left yours up to one of my underlings; he neglected to run your name correctly. We wrote you off as a just a common Doctor, average in dress and character. But he should of realized that Mycroft Holmes would not just allow any man to share a flat with his precious little brother. He would of course place a guard dog at the door, and you Doctor are a very good guard dog. You managed to shoot three of my men, one being Dr. Fischer's own brother. I hate turn over and having to replace the men I've already put money and effort into." He sighed heavily, leaning against a metal office desk, John realized the Doctor was no longer standing to his side, instead he was pushing a small metal tray, towards the middle of the room. This tray carried several familiar looking shiny instruments all used for surgery.

"So, not only do you cost me some well trained men-"

"No offense, but whatever you were paying them was far too much-" another hard fist but to his gut. "Sorry, please continue." John coughed.

"Thank you. Losing employees simply makes me unhappy, but I must say the most disconcerting thing, Doctor, is the fact you managed to steal from me. Yes, you've stolen my guest, Sherlock Holmes. I had such great plans for him and his dear bruder. Also I expected to use him as a bargaining chip for my bruder. . All this ruined by a common looking man. But we both know you are anything but. Mycroft screens all his employees impeccably, I know seeing how its taken years to get a mole into his organization and even then he found the man and _let him go_." John winced at the way he put it, recognizing the fact that it couldn't have been the run of the mill sacking.

"I did manage to persuade another to deliver messages to my brother on the inside but it seems he too was caught. See how I'm losing employees."

"Occupational hazard I'm sure." The Butcher sighed waving to Gustav, who on cue landed another heavy punch to the left side, this time John's face. At least he was switching it up.

"So I have no bargaining chip, my dear Gunther is still in that dreadful place and all I have is you. So needless to say you're collateral damage, Mycroft's people refuse to acknowledge you as part of their organization. Laughable, I am not a simple minded man Doctor Watson, they think they can throw me off from interrogating you maybe I can extract some information about the Iceman himself seeing how you work so closely with the family. It's all so exciting this. Now, this is how it will go, you're going to die Doctor Watson eventually, but you don't have to make it painful, it could be quick-well" he looked at the crestfallen face of Doctor Psychopath "Well quickish." Oh there was the crazy Doctor's smile again fantastic.

"This is how it begins, I will have you soften up a bit, compliments of Gustav, he'll tenderize if you will, I've found it really can make a man more receptive to cooperation. Then, after that, you will be asked a series of questions, some small others more detailed. And when your answer isn't exactly to my liking, you shall see why they call me the Butcher, of course my friend Doctor Fischer will monitor your vitals don't want you passing out or dieing on us. He will assist this time, I owe it to him, after all he did lose his brother, family and friends, Doctor Watson are vital to any mans existence, without family or friends where would we be?"

"Interesting I know another who would definitely disagree with your little theory." The Butcher's phone rang he answered it apologizing, John pretended to be uninterested but he strained to hear the conversation. He needed to observe to remember everything when he got out of here-if he got out. No, John refused to believe any other dilemma, he would figure it out; he'd been in tighter spots. He just needed to get a message to Sherlock, one that said _"Hey friend I'm not dead. Get your arse over here and help me!"_ The Butcher barked something in quick German, hanging up on whomever was on the other line.

"I apologize for our interruption Doctor."

"Sounds like a bit of trouble in management." John replied evenly.

"You have no idea. I've been trying to recruit Gunner to run the military side of things. If he would only take the job, I wouldn't have to concern myself with what he gets up too. As well as working with simple-minded peasants that cant seem to keep the U.S. Customs out of my business. I hate to lose money."

"Ah, I see. The Americans seize your goods. Sounds expensive." The other man nodded crossing his arms over his chest.

"You have no idea, I am just a business man trying to provide a product to less fortunate countries whose people need to arm themselves."

"Yes, no doubt against their own pesky governments."

"Indeed. If only others thought as you. But your government and the Americans have seized my products. This can not be allowed an example must be made." John realized than what the mad man was talking about.

"So you're going to blow up military ships?"

"Yes. You are astute aren't you? I'd expect no less of a man who associates with Mycroft and Sherlock Holmes." He clapped his hands grinning madly.

"What did you expect to happen-" John couldn't help but ask, as insane as the question was, he wondered at the reply. He couldn't believe the turn of conversation, they could have been talking about the weather, this man was insane. He felt relief Mycroft hadn't let the bastards brother go.

" Oh where was I, yes, that's right. A man without friends, Doctor Watson is a man without family and such a man is nothing at all."

"Huh, you sir, you're a PSYCHOPATH. I see now how you're associated with Moriarty."

"No, Doctor, I was never in his circle, I told mein bruder the man was extreme-"

"Extreme? That's a bit of the pot calling the kettle black." John had to laugh now, how the hell was he getting out of this one?


	8. MESSAGES AND THE ART OF IMPROVISING

**CHAPTER 8. MESSAGES AND THE ART OF IMPROVISING**

"Sir, here is that list of freelancers and contacts you asked for." The black suited brunette held out a well-organized file alphabetically listing, trusted freelance agents and known contacts in the country. She prided herself on how quick she put it all together, having read the documents on General Gunther Shutze and his just as insane older brother Jan Schutze the Butcher and The Shooter, fitting names for the two brothers.

Reviewing the file on the two notorious men made her pause in the middle of an important text, nearly causing an agent to take a plane to Austria instead of Australia. Imagining the fairly polite Doctor with his sweet but unreciprocated flirting, those blue eyes calm like the pond just outside her grandmothers old farmhouse.

No matter the weather, that pond shielded under an old oak remained just that, calm, temperate always so easy going. Quite a task when dealing with the younger and lets be truthful, the older Holmes as well.

The pictures and documentation on The Butcher's past victims had spoken far more than the few lines of carefully descriptive methods and outcomes, of crimes and possible contacts. Everyone including her Boss thought the Doctor's life had been ended just outside the train yard. She was a believer in hard facts, and they had yet to find any trace, or rather pieces of the good Doctor, the ex soldier had done them all a favor by seeing the younger Mr. Holmes returned fairly uninjured.

Today was business as usual, except she was now holding out a file on possible freelancers, a list of enemies correlating with The Butchers more frequent clientele, as well as having no love for the Butcher or the Shooter.

And realizing now that the older Mr. Holmes had yet to look up from his desk, the expression on his usually stoic face almost caused her to drop her blackberry all together, someone was going to cease existing. Then she heard the audio from a web cam, a pricier one from the clarity of it, and leaning over she could see the images on the screen. The scene playing out held the Boss's full attention.

"Well, dear friend. Seeing how your kleiner bruder, managed to slip out the back door before I could properly introduce myself. I suppose I can settle for your employee. Sad that you left your dog behind, but I promise I will take good care of him for you. Shame Mycroft I thought you to employ men with better manners. This one is actually quite rude and my English is far from inaccurate but some of the nouns he uses, makes me reconsider my knowledge of the English vocabulary. So, I've made a little video for you, thought I could send you updates, a courtesy you've yet to extend me. Tsk tsk, Mycroft prisoners should be allowed one phone call, don't give me that look, my prisoner wasted his one phone call when he procured my associates mobile and called for you to pick up dien bruder."

This video file had been sent to Mycroft's email, and using all precautions of a high ranking government employee he opened it in the quiet of this temporary office, knowing who it was from almost immediately.

Mycroft Holmes could easily deduce the contents, and in normal circumstance he would put a low level agent to catalog and transcribe the details and footage on this file, only to deliver a completed report to him promptly after.

However this time he found himself unlocking the secure file, the server it was sent on was bouncing off of too many satellites and using a stolen ip address, untraceable wholly untraceable. Mycroft found himself glaring at the man known as the Butcher, he hadn't aged too much from their recent photographs about five years, thankfully he no longer sported that ridiculous black mustache.

"Alright, state your name for the camera." Mycroft listened, in the background he heard muffled noises, sounding like the engines of a truck, military vehicles, used to haul equipment.

He tried to focus on details now, but his eyes came back to the blond man slumped in a metal chair. Another thug whose appearance spoke volumes of his job title (career mercenary) drew a heavy fist back and hit the already bruised doctor hard in the face.

Despite himself Mycroft cringed, the mercenary delivering abuse had a face that reminded Mycroft of one of the toads that his brother would dissect as a young boy, and then leave in the families fridge. The blow the Toad delivered sent the smaller man out of the metal folding chair and he landed hard groaning on he tried to pick himself up from the cement floor, he gave up his arms collapsing under his own weight.

John's instinct to cover his head from the likelihood of a kick wasn't lost on the older Holmes. The abused Doctor spoke now his eyes locating the camera "Just call me Frank Buchanan" he received that anticipated kick to his belly, he caused him to roll breathlessly knocking over a tray of surgical tools. "Alright, alright," he grunted his voice almost faint "That's not my name, my friends like to call me Fryatt, Chuck Fryatt."

The toad of a man then pulled John up by his hair pushing him into a chair, Mycroft could see how his wrists had been worn raw from captivity, he'd been beaten and blood soaked just under his lower left quadrant, definitely some kind of stitches, a little weight loss, bruises, possible broken ribs,. "Manners Doctor."

"Oh, yeah, I forgot." John cleared his throat "My name is John Watson, born 2016 novemeber 30. "

"Why do you insist on making this difficult doctor, I did warn you. " The Butcher stepped out from behind the web camera, nodding towards the man in a crisp white lab coat, who gladly picked up one of the bigger scalpels that had been knocked over and scattered across the now blood stained cement.

"I guess it's my explosive charm." John grunted as Gustav held him in his chair, "You know, I've never been to Germany in the fall, tell me is it beautiful along the coast?" John's voice cracked, he squirmed and kicked out, Mycroft couldn't see how they were cutting him but knew by the way his legs twitched the chair knocked back with the smaller man in it, the bigger thug kept tight and the blond who Mycroft deduced was a doctor leaned over blocking the camera's view.

"Oh, come now Doctor Watson if you scream I think Doctor Fischer will take pity."

"Fuck off." Johns voice was shaking now, he was taking deep breaths, and The Butcher looked on curiously. As if the two were children pulling the wings off a fly.

"Oh damn he's passed out, wake him up Doctor Fischer if you will." Doctor Fischer sighed, moving off screen returning with a bucket of cold water, blood still on his hands and staining his white coat. "Nice work Doctor." The Butcher remarked looking down at the still form of John Watson. Mycroft could construe from where the mad Doctor Fischer had been positioned and movements of his shoulders and arm where and how deep he'd carved on the now unconscious victim. This Doctor Fischer than dumped the bucket of cold water on John Watson. John coughed and sputtered, gasping for air, Mycroft could see how his hands shook he tried once more a fetal position.

"Gustav if you will." The toadish thug then picked the wounded man and sat him in the chair none to gently.

"Doctor Watson, your name, please. "

"John H. Watson." This came through gritted teeth, Mycroft could see the blood soaking through the cotton of John's gray t-shirt, several tears in the material just below his right shoulder, an area where his old war injury scared the flesh, the nerves and tissue tender still from the trauma of being shot in the line of duty.

"Good" the Butcher smiled. He gestured to someone off screen, and another henchmen brought over a rather large hunting knife, one used to skin big game. "I think, Doctor Watson, that manners can be learned. If you have the right teacher of course." He turned to the camera, "Don't you think so too old friend?" And the screen went blank.

"Sir, the files you asked for." His assistant tried to feign indifference and failed, her voice had an edge to it and a hint of green took residence under her unblinking eyes. Mycroft wordlessly relieved her of the documents he had requested from her, ignoring how her hand slightly trembled. And then it hit him, he stood up suddenly knocking his uncomfortable chair back, even his assistant flinched. He pressed a few buttons on speed dial, his face pinched and pail, the brunette could only put her hand down, forgetting to hit send on a text.

"There is going to be a bombing, the 16th at 1130! Two possible targets at the German naval base, U.S. and British ships. Yes it is a very reliable source. Yes, get the bomb squads down there, and for Gods sakes try to be covert! They can't know we are on to them."

"Sir!" A Lt. Vickers burst into the substitute office of Mycroft Holmes, out of breath "The prisoner has escaped." On cue the base Alarms went off.

_"Where are you?"MH_

_"Going for a ride." SH_

_"You go too far brother."MH_

_"Not quite far enough."SH_

_"Sherlock bring BACK THE TERRORIST."MH_

_"No."SH_

_"What are you doing?"MH_

_"I think I may have found a butcher in Switzerland that I'd like to go to."_

_"I have confirmation John is still alive. For now."MH_

_"Let me help you." MH_

_"You've done enough. See you laters."SH_

Mycroft Holmes Government Official, and brother to Sherlock Holmes did something then that he hadn't done in a long time, he swore out loud.

* * *

Sherlock glared at his phone, he really should take the battery out but what if John tried to contact him. He'd take the chance, let Mycroft follow him, he'd outsmarted them before.

"So Schutze how about you make a phone call to your big annoying brother, before he does something that he cant take back, and more than regret will be the consequence." The prisoner still in cuffs, and his orange jump suit shivered against the cold Swiss air. That and the truck they'd stolen wasn't equipped with heating, and the draft from the open ended back wasn't helping. "Don't try to be clever we both know I can decode a message faster than it takes for you to think one up. I'll end up cutting your tongue out, I mean you'll still be in one piece. Just a little quieter."

"Your phone then." Sherlock had pulled the truck over, they would need to procure a less recognizable vehicle, first thing was first. If Mycroft received proof that John was alive, for how much longer would he stay that way? He'd read the file on the Butcher, he had a certain method of doing things. Always ending in the victims unrecognizable to the point that DNA had to be the identifier. What stage in the interrogation were they in by now? Damn you Mycroft, how long had he known?"Make it quick Schutze! We aren't exactly taking a luxury tour of the country side." Schutze gave Sherlock a mobile number he hit call the phone on speaker now.

"Hallo?"

"Bruder!" Gunther sounded relieved, Sherlock couldn't understand this show of sentiment, it almost repelled him. When he'd returned after three years of working with Mycroft's agency he hadn't said much to his brother besides;

"Its over. I expect you wont be calling for my time anymore." And Mycroft had only nodded. And that was the most of a welcome home Sherlock would ever receive.

"Gun, Sind Sie das?"

"IN ENGLISH!" Sherlock snapped.

"Yes, yes Jan it's me."

"Who is there with you have you managed to escape?"

Sherlock turned the speakerphone off, holding a gun on his prisoner.

"Alright Mr. Schutze, I have given you proof of life, now you are to do the same."

"Oh, hallo there, Sherlock. We've yet to meet. What a pleasure to see you're willing to return my dearest Kleiner Bruder, what do you want in return?"

"Don't play the fool. I want proof that he is still alive, and know this if he isn't than I'll leave the phone on speaker so you can hear your brother's finally moments and I promise them to be painful."

"And they call me The Butcher. I've heard stories of your adventure Mr. Holmes. So I shall give what you ask for. Let me see if he is awake, he's been playing Doctor with my own Doctor Fischer. " The man must have pressed mute, Sherlock could hear nothing and then he made out what sounded like an echo.

"Perhaps its best that I send you a photograph? Doctor Watson is resting, he's had a particularly long day." Without blinking or any warning the thin detective took aim and fired into the hand of the prisoner. He hit speakerphone as his now fingerless detainee was screaming out in pain.

"Bruder!"

"Like I said proof of life. Or the next one will take more than a finger." The polite voice on the other end grew cold now, but Sherlock paid it no heed to the foreign curses streaming out from the terrorist on the other end. "Now those aren't very polite words Mr. Schutze." Sherlock held his tone even and emotionless. His heart pounded in his chest and his ears strained to hear proof that he wasn't too late.

"Get him up!" he heard the criminal order someone, "Hallo! Doctor Watson! Wakie, wakie."

"Piss off." And Sherlock felt his ears ring, he recognized that tone, _the stop bugging me I 've only two hours sleep and I don't care about your experiment with mold,_ voice _._ John's voice he was alive, despite the tired edge in his words, he was alive and Sherlock would take that.

"Fine, where do you wish to make the trade?"

"I'm guessing you are doing this against big brother's orders."

"I don't like to repeat myself."

"I'll text you the coordinates."

"I expect no more harm will come to Doctor Watson."

"If I have the same assurances for my brother."

"Of course." Sherlock knew from the mans profile that he couldn't keep his word, he hated Mycroft and Sherlock, all too much to allow him or John to live. Sherlock expected a trap, in fact he hoped for one.

John waited for The Butcher to leave, he'd blacked out twice, out of the four times, so twice he faked a pretty believable faint. Then Doctor Fischer bloke was so hell bent on torture he was a touch off his game.

The ex army soldier remained still, in the fetal position, so his hands, busy unlocking the cuffs to his feet and chaffed wrists, were hidden from view. When the Butcher stormed over to the cell he'd froze, feigning unconsciousness again, The Butcher yelled at the burley guard, "Get him up!" John figured he'd pop into the dimly lit room, he needed more time, no way he could take all three not in his state. The door swung open he tried to even out his breathing.

The army doctor rolled to his side remaining extremely still, his eyes fell on the flickering light above, this irritated him, another room with a dammed flickering light, couldn't these bastards pay to have an electrician check the wiring? Seriously, terrorism couldn't be doing so bad that they wouldn't have the funds.

Speaking of terrorists he hoped that Mycroft caught his message, naming two naval officers one of a US ship and one of a British ship both captains from the American Revolution. Mycroft had to get the coded message, he was after all a history buff, it all should be obvious as what was the target and his birthday he'd given a time and a date. He swore under his breath thinking of the many hard working soldiers on those ships, innocent, he knew first hand what explosives did to a man's body. _"Please don't be to late."_

"Hallo! Doctor Watson! Wakie, wakie." The Butcher tried to verbally rouse their prisoner, John forced the only thing that came to mind

"Piss off" he groaned, hoping he sounded weak and out of it, this could buy him some time. The last session had nearly bested him, he was bleeding from multiply cuts over his torso and shoulder, he needed to get the cuffs off, his fingers where a bit numb due to lack of circulation. He didn't turn to face his warden, the man hadn't bothered to enter completely into the small cell, and John heard him talking on his mobile.

How insulting, the madman couldn't even be moved to put the mobile down and properly taunt the good Doctor. No matter, he thought, waiting for the heavy door to close and at the familiar click of a lock, John continued to work on freeing himself. The plan, well sort of, basically a plan, free himself from the chains, then wait for Big ugly or Doctor Psychopath to enter, and use the chains of his restraints to choke which ever man and hopefully disarm one. He'd figure the rest out afterwards, first thing was first, time for an escape.

* * *

**A/N: sorry for the cliffhangers, it's not intentional but that is what the muse feeds me. Thank you all for your continued reviews and encouragement.**


	9. THE ESCAPE (PART 2)

**CHAPTER 9. THE ESCAPE (PART 2)**

"Doctor it isn't wise to go against Die Metzger, his orders are pretty clear." The blond Doctor holding a blood stained scalpel at his side, a cool business like expression met the mercenaries own uncertain one.

"He promised me time with the prisoner. Three sessions is nothing, and I wont kill him Gustav, just going to make a few more cuts, perhaps around the kidneys, I do like the idea of tearing through the soft tissue, causing the small bean like organs to hemorrhage, slowly painfully-"

"Fine Doctor but on your head be it. I will claim you were going in to bandage and clean him up."

"Oh, Gustav you worry too much my friend."

John prepared himself hearing parts of the muffled discussion, he held the chains in his hands, he kept himself turned so his back was to the door. No handle on the inside Doctor Psychopath had Gustav shut the entrance behind him, thinking that Doctor Watson would be too weak to even put up a struggle worthy of Gustav's muscle.

"Oh, Doctor Watson, I am so glad we finally have some time alone."

"Me too." John growled, turning over faster than a man in his condition should be able to, he kicked the blond doctors feet out from under him knocking the madman back hearing the scalpel slide and hit against the corner of the small room. Still within reach, both men dove for it, John was a combat trained army Doctor, where as Doctor Fischer was just a run of the mill GP, well, in a manner of speaking, not all GP's were insane.

Disarming the other man wasn't hard at all, sure they wrestled for the weapon. The psychotic Doctor attempted to call for help but John had smashed his face into the hard cement floor of the empty cell, breaking the mans nose. The fight left him and his body went lax.

John took the scalpel from the relaxed grip, he nudged the unconscious man, nothing out cold.

"Bastard." John cringed, damn his cuts, he was tempted for a split second to repay the doctor but time wasn't exactly on his side.

He took a deep breath removing the unconscious man's boots; he'd definitely need these. Checking the mans pockets he found a mobile "Oh it's Christmas." He murmured taking the wallet as well, in case he'd need cash and of course a key card might come in handy.

Then he pulled the man over to lie in the similar position John had been in, his heart racing he knocked hard on the windowless metal door, moving to the side just out of the immediate line of sight, he stood back as the lock clicked and the portal swung open. Gustav started to say something as he stepped inside, his eyes fell on his unconscious companion, he moved to grab his gun, too late the cold metal of a chain slid around his thick neck he tried to swing around, to fling the smaller man from him.

John held tight, refusing to let go, kicking at the back of the bigger mans knees bringing him down John put his own knee into the Toads back pulling up on the handcuffs, his muscles started to scream out and thankfully the other man slumped forward oxygen deprived and now unconscious. Panting John disarmed the Toad, also taking his phone, wallet and key card.

The injured ex soldier didn't know what the keys on the Toad's belt were for but he took them anyway. "Goodnight girls." John whispere, locking both men inside the cell.

The ex soldier checked the newly acquired weapon, thankfully it was full, he then forced his wobbly legs to move out of the open hall. Remembering where the vehicles were kept he started in that direction. Hopefully most of the men had already left to make their deliveries, deliveries that would never be distributed.

Quietly he found himself back where the crates of SEMTEX had been, most vehicles where gone, meaning the packages were well on their way, surprised he hadn't bumped into any other guards, he realized they must all be out on the run, and seeing how he wasn't exactly a dangerous or important prisoner there was no need for anyone to stay behind to keep an eye on him. Well they'd regret that one wouldn't they. John fingered the key chain, it would be just too lucky if any of the keys fit.

He went to the nearest vehicle, checking for explosives he found nothing in the three trucks left behind. Well it had been a while since he last drove one, but John found himself climbing into the drivers seat, after a quick search and some trial and error he found a key that fit, as well as a black hoodie on the passenger seat, he pulled the baggy sweater on, taking a deep breath he started the engine. No one came running wondering who was leaving with a truck,

"And that Ladies and Gentlemen is how you make an escape." John laughed to himself, adrenaline screaming in his veins, he pulled the truck back and started for the narrow garage exit or at least he assumed it was, seeing how all the other corridors were too small for the military vehicle.

Once outside, John squinted against the sun, and welcomed the cold November chill on his bruised and throbbing face. A bit of snow coated the ground but no matter, he followed the tracks out, waving at the guard posted at the gate receiving a wave in return the gates pulled open and he started down the icy road.

"Where the hell am I?" he wondered to himself, looking around at the snow-capped hillside, covered in trees also coated with soft snow. He took out one of the phones, "Dammit!" no signal, he needed to get out of the clearing, but the gaslight was flashing, why hadn't he checked that-

"FIND HIM! I want him brought to me alive!" The Butcher growled savagely the handful of armed mercenaries dispersed heading for the remaining trucks, as for the two men responsible for allowing the Doctor, his bargaining chip, to escape stood in front of him, bruised and bleeding, the Butcher took his side arm out from the holster at his hip and shot both men in the heart. After all they'd broken his, and good help was so hard to find these days.

The Butcher checked the time, the packages would be delivered soon, he needed to tie up this loose end. His rendezvous was in six hours he wouldn't miss it, even if he had to drag the doctor in pieces he would get Gun back. He decided to wear his hunting knife, he'd need it to carve up a Doctor and a supposed genius detective.

John heard the trucks coming up at break neck speeds, still no cell signal, he held tight as the old camouflaged truck started to swerve. "No, no, no" he attempted to correct but the icy roads caused the tires to spin and he found himself sliding sideways down an embankment, coming to rest hard against a tree. The impact brought his head down forcibly against the steering wheel. Dazed he tried to start the vehicle, the roaring of engines coming closer and closer.

"Doctor! Doctor Watson!" someone was calling his name, was he hallucinating? John pushed open the passenger side door, seeing how he'd hit the tree on the driver's side. His legs buckled under him, falling into the cool snow, instantly numbing he found himself wanting to lay in the cold mush and maybe take a nap. No, no that was definitely a concussion, snap out of it Doctor. "DOCTOR!" yes unquestionably hearing things, hit my head harder than I thought.

Mickey Jones checked the photograph on his mobile phone that he'd been sent before starting the assignment. Damn if the man didn't almost cost him some money, escaping before Mickey could rescue him.

Well Mr. Holmes wouldn't need to know that little detail, the smaller man wasn't much to look at, he stumbled drunkenly into the snow. Mickey had six minutes a head of the others. He'd only just arrived as a newly hired man in the Die Metzger's crew of mercenaries. Playing spy was one of Mickey's many skills, so when the British Government contacted him on a phone that no one knew the number to, how could he say no.

Of course no one said no to the umbrella-carrying Iceman, staying on Mycroft's good side kept Mickey steadily employed, freelancing was all about the references.

He approached the dazed and injured Doctor Watson, Mickey went to pull the Doctor to his feet, but the man surprised him by blocking his outstretched hand and sending a hard fist towards his face, Mickey's reflexs took over and he blocked, weaving out of the Doctor's range he then attempted to sweep the unsteady man's feet out from under him. The shorter man was spry despite his injuries, and he jumped out of the way of Mickey's carefully aimed kick, and just as surprising this older man drew on him.

"Its never an easy score." He grumbled to himself.

"Don't move if you fancy your life." John growled his hands steady despite his racing heart and foggy head.

"This is insane. Doctor Watson, the names Mickey Jones, I was sent by Mycroft Holmes to retrieve you."

"Sorry to say mate I hardly believe that."

"Sir, we don't have time for this. The others are six no-four minutes behind me. They'll be here soon. You have to listen."

"Is there gas in your truck?" John growled.

"Yes, of course." John started towards the truck his gun still aimed at the stranger.

"Doctor Watson I have orders to bring you to Mycroft in one piece. Don't make this difficult. He's already in a mood over his brother. I really don't want to be on his bad side." This brought the other man up short, he sniffed,

"Sherlock? What's he done now?" Mickey started forward slowly.

"Seems he's helped a terrorist escape in hopes of making a trade for one Doctor John Watson."

"Idiot!" the doctor growled. "Where is he?"

"We have reason to believe he will be meeting up with Die Metzger and from what little data I could gather in the short time I've infiltrated the terrorist group, he expects to meet for an exchange, somewhere near Zurich. I don't know how that's going to work with you being on the run and all."

"It's a trap. That idiot will be walking into a trap. " John heard the trucks nearing "Give me your phone."

"Its not going to work, I don't have a signal. Now please, let me bring you back to the rendezvous point so I can get paid and out from under the governments thumb."

"Piss off!"

"You don't have much time. Trust me or not its up to you, either way they will be here in two minutes."

"Fine." John sighed. The other man smiled tightly.

"Good get in the back of the truck. Cover up with the tarp and stay there no matter what you hear. Just stay put."

John frowned and than did as asked, he managed to get the tarp up over him when the first truck neared.

"I found some tracks leading from the crashed vehicle, leading up to the road but they are lost in the melting snow. Looks like he crashed the truck, I'll radio ahead. Go, go!" the men in the other two trucks drove around Mickey's parked one, none stopping to even question the new hire. "Amateurs" Mickey chuckles.

"Alright Doc, lets get you home." He climbed into the driver seat, but the familiar click that told him the safely was off on a weapon sounded just behind his left ear, Mickey gripped the steering wheel refusing to turn.

"Change of plans, we're going to Zurich." John growled.

"We don't even know if it's Zurich for sure." John pulled up the text on the mobile he'd stolen, flashing the screen at Mickey who now sighed heavily, "well once we clear these mountains we'll have to give the boss a call. He doesn't like to be misinformed."

"He has a mole." John growled. " I heard the others talking about it."

"I don't know the situation but hell if I go against-" Mickey halted hands up now in resignation the crazy Doctor pulled the slide of his 9mm back, "Fine, fine. Zurich we go." John hoped his message was received, he felt torn. No, no Mycroft was intelligent, he always seemed to read John's mind as annoying as that was.

That web cam video was sent directly to Mycroft and John was certain that the older Holmes would wish to keep John's predicament a secret from his compulsive little brother. So John guessed only Mycroft would be privy to the message and by now had a plan devised to prevent the bombings.

Mickey started up the truck, why wasn't it ever easy, seemed like anytime Mycroft Holmes called on a bloke no matter how simple the operation, something always turned up. He eyed the Doctor out of the corner of his eye, beat up pretty good and by the way his hands shook more from the drop in adrenaline than cold.

Mickey Jones covered up a laugh with a cough hearing the Doctor's stomach grumble. "There are some protein bars and water in that pack by your feet." John kept his eyes on the other man. "Come now Doctor lets trust each other. You can put the gun down. I'll play nice." John believed the freelancer, or maybe it was exhaustion clouding his judgment. He clicked the safety in place and dug through the pack.

"We'll take a little detour to avoid the other trucks, I'm sure by now they've guessed that you weren't on the road."

"Fine." John murmured, his head aching, he kept checking for a signal on the mobile in his hand. None yet, he put the cold water bottle up to the aching gash just above his right eye, that damn steering wheel had caught him good, he could feel the goose egg rising up.

"Long day Doc?" Mickey queried

"You can say it's been an interesting couple of years." He mumbled, checking the mobile once more, still no signal.

Mickey Jones continued to study the beat up Doctor from the corner of his eye, no way this man was just a regular GP. Something about this Doctor, of course there had to be, Mycroft Holmes didn't just send him to collect anyone, this guy no doubt was important to Mycroft, therefore vital to the British Government, perhaps Doctor was just a code name, yes that was it.

No way he was just an ordinary man. Why would the younger Holmes go to all the trouble and even more so why would the notorious Iceman send Mickey, and lets face it Mickey was one of the best rather _**THE BEST**_ _._ This _"Doctor "_ certainly wasn't a friend of the Holmeses, because Mycroft Holmes and the younger Holmes (from the rumors he heard) didn't have friends as a rule.


	10. SUZY SENT ME

**CHAPTER 10. SUZY SENT ME**

Sherlock pushed his sniveling prisoner down to his knees, naturally he arrived a few hours early at the exchange. His brother's texts were becoming annoying by the minute, he already anticipated his brother's demands as he was sure Mycroft already deduced the answers. But protocol dictated that he at least try to persuade Sherlock and with an instinct born from being the younger brother of a pompous controlling bag of hot air, Sherlock's knee jerk reaction was to ignore and do the exact opposite of whatever his brother demanded.

**"** **_WHERE ARE YOU!?"MH_ **

**"** **_I thought your goons would be able to answer that. Or is the training exercise over?"SH_ **

**_"This is childish Sherlock! We HAVE TO work together on this! It's the only way."MH_ **

**"** **_As usual, your way, being the one and only. Your need for control is getting rather bothersome."SH_ **

**"** **_Sherlock, people will get hurt. Don't you see what these petulant actions will result in?" MH_ **

**"** **_How long would you have let me think he was dead?"SH_ **

**"** **_You gave me no choice. I tried to reason with you."MH_ **

**"** **_And you've given me no choice."SH_ **

**"** **_Sherlock you go too far this time. I appreciate your position but you're not thinking logically, you're allowing sentiment and emotion to cloud your judgment. Think of John, what would he say if he knew how reckless you're being?" MH_ **

**"** **_I have my priorities as do you Mycroft. Speaking of don't you have a country to run?"SH_ **

With that last text Sherlock turned his phone off, his brother was always good at trying to draw out a conversation, big bag of wind! The younger Holmes knew this tactic, having seen him deploy it on others.

"No brother, you will not find my exact location just yet. But nice try." He removed the battery from his phone. "Now, where were we?" he sighed looking down at his prisoner, he'd used gray duct tape to close off the wound he'd created without remorse.

Then using the tape to tie the sobbing bastards hands feet and to muffle his blubbering several layers around Schutze's mouth, "Yes that's right. I know just where to hide you until I'm ready. "

During his texting argument with Mycroft he'd kept the 9mm concentrated on the whimpering ex General. He now brought the butt of his gun down hard against the side of his prisoners face. Knocking him out cold opening the lid to the dumpster he'd had the man crouched in front of. Schutze would blend perfectly in with the trash where he belonged. With those thoughts, and some careful maneuvering he managed to get the unconscious man inside, none to gently.

An idea for an experiment came to mind, the bacteria of the common household variety on an open wound, say on a mans hand? His mind lit up like city lights during the holidays, all the possibilities dancing in and out, the different controls that he could use and the variables.

This reminded him of past conversations with his flatmate.

_**"Is that a head in the fridge?"** _

_**"No, just tea for me thank you."** _

Sherlock slammed that mental door shut, somehow these last days his mind would come back to John. It was frustrating, and all emotions that conjured up from said thoughts confused and distracted.

Mycroft was right about one thing as much as Sherlock hated to admit it and would never do so out loud, Sherlock needed clear judgment. He took the metal pad lock from his pocket, the tool box in that truck he'd stolen had some very useful items, the lock and duct tape just two examples of the treasures he'd found within.

"So Doctor, tell me, what's your position? MI6, CIA, Europol?" Mickey took a bite of one of the Protein bars he'd kept on him. The other man was starting to nod off, his head snapped up.

"Hmm?" sitting up straight now, Mickey pretended he hadn't caught the Doctors wince, yup the thugs had worked him over pretty good, maybe cracked ribs, useless to bring up something one couldn't immediately fix.

"My guess CIA, with a code name like _"The Doctor"_ you'd have to be. Those boys always do love their code names." The Doctor frowned taking swig from the near empty water bottle still in his hands. "Oh, come on Doc I've already told you I'm a freelancer. Oh-of course you're a freelancer as well."

"Freelance?" John ran his fingers over his face, he was starting to feel the bruises more and more, he guessed by his blurry vision his left eye was a bit swollen, he dared not chance a look in the mirror.

"Come on Doc, you can spill. I've never heard of you. All the best ones remain in shadow. How the hell did they catch you?"

John gave a forced smile, tasting blood; he'd reopened his split lip "Its not the first time. And with my luck I 'm sure it's not the last." Mickey shrugged the guy had been through the ringer, understand he wouldn't want to talk. But Mickey rarely ever, ok almost never had the luxury of company so he couldn't help but talk.

"Listen mate, catch some sleep as soon as we clear these mountains I'll wake you up so you can make that phone call. You promise me though, you get to talk to the boss, I'd rather not have to explain this little detour."

"Who exactly sent you?" John finished his water and protein bar, it wasn't a steak or ravioli from Angelo's but it might as well have been, for the hunger it quenched.

"The Iceman. Scary bloke, that man. I don't mind dealing with his assistant, she's a bit of a snob though. Easy on the eyes but not so much in the personality department kind of stand offish. " John had to smile again leaning his head against the cool window he imagined Mickey trying to flirt with the texting brunette.

The idea that Mycroft would send a _contract freelancer_ as the guy put it, seemed a bit far fetched. But maybe this was all at Sherlock's insistence; if that was so then why in the hell did the idiot go off on his own?

" _Because he's Sherlock."_ His head replied in the familiar voice of an irritated DI Lestrade. John held back a chuckle, and let out a small painful sigh, keeping his tired eyes closed, the other man still speaking unaware that John only half listened.

"She called me while I was on assignment. Made an offer, I figured it was top priority cause that bird only works through text or email. Besides it's always creepy when she can reach me on a phone number that no one not even my own mum has. The money was too much to turn down, I figure they chose me due to the fact I was already in the area, and I'm the best. I wasn't doing anything too exciting, just a regular snatch and grab, some Russian-well anyway. So I get this phone call, followed by a text and your picture information not much but the usual height, weight name. "

John nodded off wishing he was in the warmth of Mycroft's black car, the heated leather seats and in the company of whatever her name was, at least she was quiet.

"You know I finally got the guff up and asked her name and she sounded amused, first time I'd ever heard anything other than the usual cold, emotionless boredom, she said. Suzy. Odd name huh-"


	11. THE PECULIARITIES OF SENTIMENT

**CHAPTER 11. THE PECULIARITIES OF SENTIMENT**

"Sir we have lost the signal sir." Mycroft pinched the bridge of his nose, a headache starting to form, he turned away from the communications officer the kid stood nervously at attention.

"I want last known location." Mycroft replied forcing his voice to be calm.

He checked his texts, nothing from his brother the pain in the-well Sherlock had predictably taken the battery out and long since dismantled the tracking device. The tracking device, Mycroft had a tech place covertly in his brothers mobile, it lasted three hours.

Most likely because his infuriating little brother wanted him to know the general area of his destination but not the exact point. Mycroft hated unknown variables, and still no word from the independent contractor he'd hired. Too much time, too much time had passed, all so irritating.

Mickey had been driving at breakneck speed, he wanted to get out of the mountain area. These back roads the professional freelance agent mapped out ahead of time, expecting a different kind of scenario as the reason why he'd be taking this road. Mickey hadn't factored in the idea that his mark was going to demand they skip the rendezvous point and start on a different rescue mission.

Well as soon as the Doctor made the call to Mr. Holmes they'd be back on schedule. No one told the Iceman no, or even deviated from the plan. Mickey almost felt bad for the Doctor, he'd been through the ringer that's for sure. Even in a dead sleep the man was restless, Mickey heard pieces of what sounded like an interesting dream something about a solar system.

Could he be a pilot or something? Well they'd made it out of the forested area and a town was coming into view maybe it was time to wake the Doctor.

"Alright Doc wake up, we've cleared the mountains" Mickey nudged the Doctor the other man had been sleeping like the dead, reminded of an army buddy he once knew, he could take a nap just about anywhere. When is hand fell on the Doctor's shoulder the Doctor startled awake,

"I had bad days" he growled sitting up looking around wildly, holding the 9mm in a strangely steady hand.

"Doctor?" Mickey frowned, both hands on the steering wheel, trying not to make any sudden moves and not crash the truck. "You alright?" John rubbed sleep from his eyes, the dream already fading into a faint memory he couldn't even recall it, other than he was shouting at Sherlock.

"Yeah, sorry. Fine." He murmured, clearing his throat.

"I say we ditch the truck for something a little less obvious. You make that call to the boss. There's a small village coming up we can get a car and then we'll go from there."

"I'll give Suzy a call, then she'll connect us with Mr. Holmes so-" Mickey didn't get to finish the Doctor took one of the stolen mobile's, dialing a number. Who could he be calling? Suzy changed her number every four hours, only those needing to contact her regularly were given the number so the Doctor had to know the number was changed. So who else would he-

"Mycroft how. in. the hell. did he get passed you!?" Mickey thought he'd heard wrong. Who was this man? He couldn't be calling Mr. Holmes directly let alone by his first name.

"Hello John, glad to hear you're alive. And well." Mycroft kept his own voice even.

"You do know it's a trap."

"Unequivocally. As does Sherlock, somehow it has yet to sink in."

"You don't know where he is do you? Took the battery out of the phone didn't he?"

"It seems so." John could hear the irritation in the British Governments voice but he didn't care.

"You know how he is Mycroft you're his dammed brother, you should of anticipated-I'm going to kill him when I see him. Of all the reckless-"John couldn't concentrate on any words his head was pounding, and his shoulder ached, dammed cold weather.

"John. Mr. Jones will bring you to a safe house, I've arranged for you to-"

"Sit this one out? Not going to happen Mycroft."

"Dr. Watson do be reasonable-." Mycroft was cut off again.

"Reasonable? Reassssonable," John hissed giving a tight laugh "No! Oh, no. You Holmes brothers always sooo sure-we'll hey guess what that case we were on wasn't a simple kidnapping. Turns out it was all orchestrated and when the mad genius of ours followed the clues realizing, just a tick too late, that it had all been just too easy, it's lights out."

"John-" Mycroft was ignored again as the Doctor continued on.

"Now, I've been drugged, beaten, drugged again, stabbed, beaten some more, used as a punching bag I'm sure for your viewing pleasure, half starved, and oh yeah did I mention some insane German Doctor decided to practice his scalpel technique on me and he was a shit doctor let alone surgeon…Now you're going to listen Mycroft Holmes. I don't know the particulars of what your brothers done now. But I do know this, he's walking straight into a trap and I'm not going to let some mad arms dealer with a pension for knives and cutting people up for kicks, take Sherlock, skin him alive and maybe. I don't know, wear him as a coat! You'll excuse me if I am not your idea of reasonable because your idea. Lets- lets see, reasonable. Is. Formulating a plan and going lone wolf, playing at government agent and then someone jumps off a damned building and I'm left to watch, wondering for the next three years after, if there was some damned way for me to stop it! Well not again. NOT AGAIN." John was yelling, he didn't know why he was yelling and the words streamed out, he halted now, taking a deep painful breath (broken ribs great)

" I'm sure your triangulating the mobile, good on you mate, I'd expect no less. I'll save you the trouble and text you the address to where we are going, we aren't far from Zurich we'll meet your people there. " John managed to sound somewhat calmer, his adrenaline taking a dive.

"John what is your plan? Since you seem to have everything worked out." Mycroft kept his eyes on the computer screen in front of him, the map of Switzerland highlighted, several dots representing mobile towers lit up as the signal was being located via satellite.

"Doesn't feel so good being cut out? Well you've only lived hours of this, I put three years in. " John didn't understand his own sudden outburst, his frustration and just as abruptly a string of curses were released in quick succession.

There was silence on the other end of the phone and John Watson took a deep breath. "I'll text you the address, my plan is to not get shot, and to make sure my flatmate isn't shot either. And then I'm going to go home take a hot shower, put my own clothes on have a hot plate of ravioli take away and joyfully fall into a comfortable coma in my own room. That's the plan." John ended the call and forwarded the address via text.

Mickey's phone shortly after rang he answered it knowing damn well who was on the other line. As did John from the way he now held the 9mm pointed directly at Mickey. The freelancer had thought of disarming the Doctor while he slept but quickly refused to run with the idea seeing how the Doctor held it locked under his body close, ready to use it. Someone would get shot, no, he thought Mr. Holmes would be able to talk the man into compliance.

"Hallo?"

"Mickey. Let's put the pleasantries aside. I know you know who I am."

"Yes sir." Mickey swallowed, the voice on the other end distinctive although he'd only talked to the man once and preferred it that way.

"Seeing how my friend no doubt has a gun pointed directly at you, I have decided to up your fee of course and personally request you accompany the good Doctor until further help can arrive."

"Yes, Mr. Holmes."

"Mickey, I'd make some kind of threat but I'm sure your situation is quiet clear if that man there falls into the enemies hands or is further injured while in your company- "

"I understand sir." Mickey tried to sound confidant unafraid but the chill of the Iceman's voice made his own slightly shake.

"I'll be in touch." And the line went dead, Mickey put the phone in his pocket, he studied the doctor's irritated face as he swore at his own phone. Who was this man, if the way he spoke to Mr. Mycroft Holmes was any indication than he was some high ranking government official. Higher than Mr. Holmes even. And he was going to kill the brother of Mr. Holmes? What an odd assignment this was turning out to be.

"Well Doctor looks like we are off to Zurich."

_**~0~** _

Sherlock started for the warehouse just a block down from the alley, from the blood loss and fatigue, not to mention that tap to the head, Sherlock didn't have to worry about the prisoner waking up anytime soon, most likely he'd be unconscious for a few hours. Just in case the consulting detective locked the dumpster with the padlock he'd found earlier.

Sherlock's mind started to wonder as he checked the area quietly, deciding to climb the fire escape to the warehouse's connecting building, this gave him the advantage of high ground. From the roof he'd jump across to his destination, when the Butcher arrived he'd have no choice but to turn his phone back on till then, Sherlock would keep watching the street below.

" _ **I-I cant come down so we'll just have to do it like this."**_

" _ **Whats going on?"**_

_**"An apology-"** _

Sherlock pulled away from that memory he wouldn't think about birds or angels, or the roof of a hospital. He had to keep a clear mind, damn these emotions this nagging sentiment and guilt.

Guilt , he'd identified this emotion some time ago and filed it away but it refused to stay locked in the cellar of his mind palace. Whenever he came upon the room labeled John this blasted feeling surfaced darkening the usually warm fire lit place. Sherlock couldn't understand why this feeling couldn't be pushed away forgotten or at least deleted, no it resurfaced and threatened to drown him. Always at the most inopportune moments.

**~0~**

"Doc those cuts look pretty bad." Mickey winced seeing the Doctor remove the hoodie.

"Just keep driving, I'm gonna change some of the bandages. Glad you had a first aid kit."

"You sure you know what your-"

"Don't worry, _**I 'm**_ a doctor." John winced placing a large clean plaster over one of the more severe incisions just above his right shoulder.

"Are you really? If you don't mind me asking sir what is it that you do?" Mickey could see the many bruises and he had been right to think the other man had fractured ribs, looking at him now more likely broken. But above the bruising and bloody rectangular plasters the Doc had reinforced with surgical tape, was the worst wound of all and Mickey recognized that kind of marking. Made by a military assault rifle, high caliber, that bullet hit him from a distance, the shooter would have been aiming at the Doctor's back.

"Yes. I'm a Doctor, just an ordinary Doctor working at a surgery center in London."

"And-"

"What?" John pulled the black hoodie back over his head glad to have another layer against his aching body.

"Alright, alright keep your secret, just curious is all, a little professional courtesy. Sometimes a bloke likes to know who he's working with."

"I just told you. I'm a Doctor."

"Come on now. You called Mycroft Holmes directly."

"Yeah I know."

"You called the _British Government directly_." Mickey repeated himself stressing the last words.

"Yes, well he is a bit of a drama queen isn't he." John took out the stolen mobile and texted, swearing when no answer came. "Damn you Sherlock."

"And your trying to get a hold of the younger brother? No, you aren't just a Doctor."

"What?" John felt confused.

"No one talks to Iceman like that and lives. The younger Holmes I've heard stories about as well."

"Oh I could tell you some stories. " John chuckled "stories that will turn your stomach and freeze your blood." Mickey's curiosity got the better of him.

"Well go on then."

"Have you ever had a flatmate?" Mickey shook his head.

"Before I went into the army, yeah back in uni."

"Then you'll understand some of my pain. Especially when I tell you about the body parts in the fridge-" John took another bite of a protein bar, at least his jaw wasn't fractured.

**_~0~_ **

Mycroft enjoyed the much needed silence as the sleek black car rolled towards Zurich, he'd taken a helicopter from the base and now the team was assembling he'd reach the address knowing full well that John would have been there far longer maybe beating them by an hour. Damn, and Sherlock would have gone ahead for the advantage of finding high ground. The board was set and Mycroft hoped he wasn't too late to keep the odds in his favor.

" **I haven't mentioned a figure."**

" **Don't bother."**

" **You're very loyal very quickly"**

" **No I'm not. I'm just not interested."**

The memories of a past conversation came floating to the surface, and Mycroft tried to push them away. Remembering the way the doctor had looked him in the eye, straightened his shoulders and then walked away. Loyalty, Mycroft had yet to see it up close, the kind of loyalty that one didn't have to pay for. He doubted the Doctor all those years ago, only seeing a broken man leaning on a cane, nothing more.

**"Look at them, they all care so much. Do you ever wonder if there is something wrong with us?"**

**"All lives end, all hearts are broken. Caring is not an advantage Sherlock."**


	12. LITTLE BROTHER COME DANCE WITH ME

**CHAPTER 12 LITTLE BROTHER COME DANCE WITH ME**

Sherlock saw the car belonging to the Butcher and his friends, pull up, looking down the idiots parked across from the building, oh not so inconspicuous now, smug amateurs. He waited watching for a sign of John. Moving to put the battery back in the phone when something caught his eyes.

Two large men carrying assault riffles not even trying to be discreet opened the trunk of the black window tinted Mercedes (cliché), they were laughing easily and pulled a smaller figure, male, from the trunk. Hands bound, he struggled weakly, from where Sherlock stood he could only make out the fact the man wore a bloody pair of kaki pants, and a blood stained gray t-shirt. His heart sank to his stomach, he couldn't see anything else, John's face was covered with a black cloth bag.

As Sherlock surveyed the situation below he wasn't aware of a man in the abandoned building across the street speaking into a mobile, "He's here, I have a visual. Should I take out the mark?"

"No you idiot, he wants him alive. While he kills him. You know the routine. Just keep an eye on him."

The Butcher smiled having his prisoner beaten outside then pulled none to gently inside. Oh, how thrilling the show would be, already he had cameras set up. The idea of Mycroft Holmes watching as he cut pieces out of the younger Holmes excited him to the point that he was twirling the machete like a baton. He'd opted for this sharper tool, instead of his knife, all for dramatic affect. Humming and singing to himself, quite excitedly, an old nursery song mutti used to sing to them as children.

_**Brüderchen, komm tanz mit mir,** _ _**beide Hände reich ich dir. Einmal hin, einmal her, ringsherum, das ist nicht schwer.** _

(Little brother dance with me,both my hands I reach for you, once back and once forth, round and round that's not difficult)

As John and Mickey neared the building something felt wrong, before John could figure out what, Mickey pulled him back into an alley just before they turned onto the street where the warehouse would be.

"Sssh." Mickey hissed, he then pointed moving to the other side of the narrow alley, at this angel they could see a building across from the one they needed to be in. "Look, do you see him?" John did, and he swore to himself angrily, exhaustion was starting to seep in, and his shoulder throbbed.

"This block must belong to him, did you notice the lack of traffic in this warehouse district, that last block nothing. " Mickey could see the doctor was running on gas fumes. "Doc we should wait for reinforcements."

"Good idea Mickey, you make the call, let Mycroft know the situation. I'll go the back way to the warehouse. Besides, I'm practically wearing their uniform and you defiantly are. They won't be expecting me. So you stay put. I'll call if I need anything." John started for the end of the alley.

"No." Mickey frowned. "Not a chance in hell."

"Look Mickey I don't want to shoot you but I will, and I'm a Doctor I know where to hit you and not permanently injure anything important but it'll put you down. I'm going into that building, I don't give a damn what Mycroft Holmes has to say-"

"Woah there Doc, I hear you. I'm not a fan of being shot by you, Mr. Holmes or one of those bastards out there. What I'm about to say is I'm going with you. God help me." He sighed sending a quick text, not wishing to call the boss about this new development.

"So all we do is blend in. Can't be to hard?" John grinned, feeling his tension leaving and in its place the instincts he'd relied on so many times in the past, the soldier in him pushing to the forefront.

"Says the man with the blood stains on his kakis." John shrugged, pulling the oversized hoodie down more trying to cover up the dried blood that did stain the thigh of his pants.

_**Mit den Füßen trapp trapp trapp, mit den Händen klapp klapp klapp, einmal hin, einmal her, ringsherum, das ist nicht schwer.**_ (With the feet "trap trap trap"with the hands "clap clap clap", once back and once forth, round and round that's not difficult")

With every tap and clap clap clap, that the children's song called for, the Butcher let his machete tap the cement. The prisoner now on his knees, in another dimly lit warehouse well just bright enough for the cameras to record.

Sherlock waited for the men to spread out, the Butcher sang some German nursery song. The song sounded familiar and something like a memory pushed at the walls of his mind palace. He'd heard this song before once, yes it was from Hanzel and Gretel an opera mummy had taken Mycroft and him to. Sherlock remembered sitting on the edge of his seat, as the two children had been lead into the woods. They left a silly trail behind them of course the birds would eat it. Bread crumbs, leading to a gingerbread house-

No, not now. Sherlock tried to push that door closed. The kidnappings of those children, the burned gingerbread man sent in a package to Baker Street the bread crumbs-birds a rooftop-

"Don't worry Doctor Watson you'll be home before you know it. Now be a good dog and just sit tight." The Butchers now hard voice drew Sherlock out of the thoughts threatening to drown him. He needed to focus, focus on getting John out of here and alive. "Himmel! Stefen!" he growled at the two lackeys standing behind John. "Go outside, keep an eye out for the skinny detective, there is no fight left in the lap dog now. I am sure I can keep him in line." Both men nodded and headed for the exit. "Mika, you take another man and watch the back way, I don't want to be surprised."

_**Mit dem Köpfchen nick nick nick, mit den Fingern tick tick tick, einmal hin, einmal her,**_ _ **  
**_ _ **ringsherum, das ist nicht schwer.(**_ With the head "nod nod nod" with the fingers "tick tick tick" once back and once forth, round and round that's not difficult _)_

* * *

Sherlock was aware this would leave the Butcher alone, the simple minded criminal wasn't even thinking that Sherlock would have arrived sooner, did he assume he'd been farther away? Something in him was setting off a warning alarm, but with every mad tap with the dammed machete, Sherlock found himself unable to hold onto any linear thoughts. The idea was like a candlelight flickering with a heavy draft outside, and every tap the light dimmed and finally went out, leaving Sherlock unable to concentrate on anything but the slumped over figure. John's breathing seemed strained possibly broken ribs, he wasn't speaking so his mouth was gagged duct tape from the way the black cloth bag over his head had indents where Johns nose would be, trying to accommodate for the lack of air. Sherlock felt the observations fly at him, and he had to shut it off. To focus.

" _ **What would you like me to make him say next? Gottle o 'gear gottle o'gear-"**_

"Stop this." Sherlock whispered, he needed to center himself; John's life was on the line again-

_**"I stopped him I could stop John Watson too, stop his heart"** _

Sherlock's hands shook as he put the battery back in his phone, expecting The Butcher to call any moment, and now would be good to let Mycroft know just where he was. He could easily shoot the man, but first he needed to insure John was out of danger.

"Shit! I've got no signal." John had wanted to warn Mycroft about the buildings in the area. But his phone was showing no signal.

"Mine too, but that cant be right. I just sent a text-" Mickey frowned checking his own phone.

John and Mickey rounded the back corner walking as if with purpose, still no signal, just as anticipated two large men passed "Halt!" one called out, Mickey turned around first. John staid a step behind, his face shielded by the height of the taller man.

"Ja?"

"Where are you two going?" one of the thugs waving his hand that held a black semi automatic.

"We were told to check the back." Mickey replied irritable. "But if you want we can go wait in the building across the street, its not exactly warm weather out here."

"No, to hell with you. The boss told us to check the back way too, so how about we go this way, and you take the back door. We've been out here longer than you anyway. And its not likely he's gonna call for help, the boss already jammed all the mobile signals. So take our radios."

"Don't you need them?" Mickey asked catching the two black walkie talkies, the other two men laughed.

"Ja, we'll be in the warm building looking for some. Have fun and don't go in there, he isn't wanting to be interrupted. "

"Alright whatever." The two thugs walked away laughing. Mickey held tight to Johns forearm the other man tensed

"Wait for them to go round the corner than we'll go in." Mickey could feel the anxiety in the good Doctor and a question came to him. "Hold on, but it's the solar system?"

"Its alright Sherlock Holmes, supposed genius. I had expected more out of you. How predictable. Come out Sherlock, your mobile wont work for a two block radius. We'll have our privacy, I think it will take big bruder a little time to find us. Even then which warehouse are we in? They all look so much a like. So come out." The Butcher called into the darkness. When no answer came he sent a hard kick into the prisoners back. Sherlock watched John fell face first against the cement he made an odd noise. "Why don't I prove my resolve by removing body parts from your little dog. Or I could just save the energy and put a whole through his head. Isn't that how dogs are put down?"

Sherlock scanned the clearing, he already made sure no one entered before the Butcher showed up, so no hidden snipers in the rafters, he wanted to check the area by the back doors a blind spot to where his position was. But just then the Butcher drew a gun from his back pocket, removed the safety and pulling the slide. Proof the weapon was indeed ready to fire and it was aimed directly at John's head.

"Looks like we are alone."

"Ah, Sherlock there you are. Now, where is Gun? Near by I hope."

"Let him go, and we'll walk out of here, I'll text you the location."

"So how do we do this, how about you throw down your weapon." The butcher demanded. But Sherlock held it straight aiming at the criminal. "Yes I hoped you would make this interesting. You can shoot me, even kill me but not before I kill him, than you might as well aim for your own head because I own this street block. So I'll say it again, drop it." Sherlock debated, he still had Schutze, that was his leverage even if Sherlock took John's place as a prisoner.

"You'll never find him if you kill me."

"YOUR Gun! NOW! Slide it to me." Schutze moved to press the weapon hard into John's covered head.

"You know I'm not alone. I made assurances-" Sherlock slide his weapon kicking it towards the mad man, another hostage situation, another mad man in a suit, how very ironic.

"No. No. I think you did not. And I'm glad for it. He's alive, Gun is alive and somewhere near by. That's all I need to know." And as if in a nightmare Sherlock watched reading the glint in the gunrunners eyes. The Butcher fired then blood poured out and soaked through the black cover oh Johns head down the front of the gray t-shirt, his legs had twitched on impact. Lifeless now, point blank. Sherlock felt the wind knocked out of him. He hadn't even realized the Butcher was behind him laughing. Laughing and the world seemed to spin, his own acute vision blurred.

" _ **How do you feel about the violin?"**_

" _ **Sorry what?"**_

" _ **I play the violin when I'm thinking sometimes I don't talk for days on end. Would that bother you? Potential flatmates should know the worst about each other?"**_

" _ **Who said anything about flatmates?"**_

So fixed on having the advantage of high ground Sherlock hadn't thought to consider the idea that any of the buildings on the block would belong to the Butcher, and that was exactly why the thugs weren't hiding their weapons or actions. They owned the block. This dawned on him, as his face met the cold cement, he was at eye level with his dead friend. Sherlock remembered how John had sounded when their postions were switched. The way he pushed into the crowd.

" _ **He's my friend."**_

I'm sorry John. ** _  
_**

Mycroft checked his phone he'd sent a quick text to Mickey and received nothing, another to John still nothing.

" _ **What might we deduce about his heart?"**_

"Sir!" the driver rolled his employers window down, there, Mycroft could see smoke billowing out of a warehouse from the distance, this car wasn't far behind his agents, they couldn't be the cause. He was too late

The Butcher didn't even have to worry about a struggle, he had been correct assuming that the younger Holmes would have the rug pulled out from under him, the chink in his armor. What a great stage Die Metzger had set, he practically waltzed right behind the dark haired man, and simply a hard blow to the back of the head the thin man fell forward stunned on two levels. And the Butcher finished his song,

_**Noch einmal das schöne Spiel, weil es uns so gut gefiel. Einmal hin, einmal her, ringsherum, das ist nicht schwer.**_ _**Brüderchen, komm tanz mit mir,**_ _ **beide Hände reich ich dir. Einmal hin, einmal her, ringsherum, das ist nicht schwer**_. (Little brother dance with me both my hands I reach for you once back and once forth, round and round that's not difficult Once again the beautiful game, because we enjoyed it so much once back and once forth, round and round that's not difficult)


	13. OPTIONS

**CHAPTER 13. OPTIONS**

"Wait we go in there. Say he is alive." Mickey had to get through to the Doctor, the situation was becoming more an more complicated.

"He is alive. Why are we wasting time?" John pulled his arm free from Mickey

"Hear me out. Ok, we save him but what then? We take on The Butcher and get out how?" Mickey standing at the back door looking around, he can hear the sound of someone singing, "He's a crazy bastard you know this right."

"Don't forget I spent some time in his damn company!"

"Alright, but-" the walkie talkies both cut into their conversation

"Mika. It's Frank. We have reports of suspicious vehicles coming in."

"How many?"

"Don't know yet, at least four verified. But you know these type, like roaches never alone and they scatter, if you're seeing one or two means fifty have hidden in plane sight."

"We'll the boss doesn't want to be disturbed. Take care of them."

"I'll send someone for the explosives, this should be fun. We haven't blown anything up in days."

Mickey and John froze, John was torn, "They wont stand a chance, and they'll be killed. We have to warn them." John held the handle to the door.

"I have orders. I go where you go."

"Yeah, what about all those agents, we have two options either I go in there with you we get Sherlock and reinforcements are blown to shit because we didn't warn them in time. Or, I go in get the flatmate, you make a distraction anything that draws attention, it'll have to be big enough for Mycroft's people to be on alert, and making this lot scrambbling. We have to do this and now."

" Fine, I'll make a distraction. " Mickey checked the bullets in his gun, a smile crossed his face "You know I haven't had this much fun since South Africa. You go get that flatmate. Meet you down by the alley. We'll go from there. Be ready to run because we are going to need to haul ass."

"Right switch the channel to six on the talkie."

"Good idea Doc." Mickey then started back around the building. "Oh" he paused "Good luck."

"You too." John took a deep breath and headed inside the building. His adrenaline was finding a second wind, and the wave caused his heart to pound and the blood roared to his ears.

"Now, you can tell me where you've stashed mien bruder or I can start removing appendages, starting with your fingers. Moving up to your hands, your forearm and your shoulders, then your nose and ears, just so you have a break, the blood loss will be great at that point so I'll just be hacking into you for the sake of hacking. Or I'll give you a bullet to the brain like your friend there."

Sherlock was blinking, his head pounded, why did everything seem so blurry, did someone hit him? They must have, something else, he turned his head seeing the outline of a figure.

"Alright, have it your way." The Butcher excitedly brought up his machete.


	14. ADVANTAGES OF FRIENDSHIP

**CHAPTER 14. ADVANTAGES OF FRIENDSHIP**

"I wouldn't!" John growled, his gun to the Butchers head. "Actually, do something, please. The day I've had. I would really, really like you to do something."

"Doctor Watson, you are far more driven then I originally considered. Whatever Mycroft is paying you, it is no where near enough. Let me sweeten the deal for you, join my family. You'll be rich. Remember as I said before; a man without friends, Doctor Watson is a man without family and such a man is nothing at all." John ignored this, his jaw clinching.

"Sherlock you ok?" no answer John couldn't see past the bigger man, he could see the body of some dead man, poor sod probably another disappointing minion of the psychopaths. "Are you alright?"

"Doctor Watson. The loyal dog. Did you bring Mycroft with you, did he sic you on me?"

"Move forward mother goose." The taller man didn't move, " I. _WILL._ Shoot. You." John punctuated every word, pressing his gun now into the bastards back right at the base of the spine.

He reached over and took the machete out of the terrorists hand, remove the sidearm holstered at the mans hip. "I said move forward." He growled. The arms dealer moved over, John could see Sherlock starting to sit up, a hand to his head, blood matted the dark curls at the temple. "Blow to the head, not very original. Sherlock?"

"He's a little disorientated, I guess I don't know my own strength." John later wouldn't be able to recall the thoughts running through his head but he did remember saying

" I do agree with you as twisted as your logic is, a man is nothing without friends or family. That said." John shrugged and shot the man in the back of the leg causing him to fall forward. Before Schutze could react more than clutching his thigh, the whole building shook, and some of the glass windows at the front facing the street blew in. Glass sprayed the floor, "And that is quiet the diversion." John sent a hard kick to the terrorist, he made sure to keep the weapon on him, and the machete he tossed off into a dark corner, Schuzte was too busy moaning.

"Sherlock." John kneeling now "damn its to dim in here."

"John?" Sherlock croaked.

"That's gonna leave quiet a bruise not to mention a damned headache. Can you stand?"

"John you're dead."

"Am I?" John shook his head."Come on, we haven't a lot of time."

"John, I saw you die."

"Sherlock I am very much alive."

"But you're dead John."

"Right, then. Up you go." The shorter man ignored his own aching shoulder. He paused looking at the terrorist.

"Kill me Doctor because I will sure as hell seek you out and kill you" John could smell the smoke from a fire, the sound of another loud explosion, "We'll that'll wake the neighbors for sure"

"John if I'm dead why do I have such a headache?" Sherlock put a hand to his bleeding temple. John moved the dirty hands away from the wound.

" Dont touch it Sherlock. We'll have to get that cleaned if you dont want a nasty infection." the Butcher was shouting now obscenities about what he would do to the Holmes brothers, to John. "Ok, we don't have time for this." irritated John looked at the Butcher, he was trying to stand. "You wont kill me, instead Mycroft will have his fun locking you in a deep dark hole, and I promise to not write. But till then, try moving with a busted knee cap."

"What." Jan looked at his knee confused, it wasn't-two shots rang out and he couldn't breath, the air robbed from his lungs, a shaking hand went to the source of his pain, coming up sticky at his knee, or at least where one should be.

"I believe manners can be taught don't you?" John didn't stay to hear an answer he was pulling Sherlock towards the exit, once out in the cold air his roommate was making sense, although his face completely pail, John thought maybe he had other injuries, worse unseen, maybe some bleeding he hadn't thought of.

"Are you alright? Have you been shot anywhere?" John started pat his friend down, seeing nothing.

"People will talk." Sherlock couldn't help but laugh now. John was in front of him, concerned crossed his bruised face, his hands pulling open Sherlocks black suit.

"People do little else." Johns hands felt over the abdomen and back checking for any bullet holes or bleeding, "I need you to stay awake Sherlock." The army Doctor could see how Sherlock had several very long blinks he was leaning back into the wall. The Doctor tapped his friends face trying to keep his eyes open

"Why? And how are you not dead?" Sherlock groaned.

"I have no clue as to what you're going on about. I just need you to focus. We have to get out of here and now, preferably in one piece."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, I kinda maybe told Mycroft to fuck off."

"You?"

"Then I hung up on him. So I need you awake incase he tries to lock me up in some unknown government facility."

"Oh I'm sure the British Government will come up with a far worse punishment, but never fear John, you have me." John rolled his eyes,

"So reassuring."

Mickey ducked under the spray of bullets; he found the Doctor and the younger Mr. Holmes. From the look of the younger Holmes, he'd had an interesting chat with the Butcher. But the two crazy bastards were leaning against the brick wall laughing.

"Not one of my smartest decisions." Sherlock chuckled.

"Well at least it wasn't jumping off the roof of a building." John grinned, then Sherlock's laughter caused him to join in.

Mycroft stood beside his car, lighting a cigarette, several more explosions down the street, all within seconds of each other. This would be a mess to explain and clean up, but his mind wasn't on that. It kept going back to his brother, and the good Doctor, an ambulance pulled up at a safe distance, time for containment and crowd control, Mycroft sighed. He was awaiting the reports; the bodies of the Doctor and his brother would need to be identified. Already his men were hauling in the arrested terrorists. Some but not many of his men needed medical attention, nothing major. He came up short thinking he was hearing things as he neared one of the ambulances.


	15. THE BRITISH GOVERNMENT

**CHAPTER 15. THE BRITISH GOVERNMENT**

"I don't need a damned blanket." Sherlock growled pushing the hated shock blanket from him "Why is it such an awful color, whether we are in England or –are we still in Switzerland?"

John rubbed a hand to his own bruised temple. He threw Mickey an exasperated look, the Free Lancer's face was covered in dirt from the explosions and a few cuts, the ambulance driver was instead trying to stem the bleeding that a rather nasty bullet had connected with the mans shoulder.

"Hey Doctor!" Mickey yelled out before they pushed his cot up into the back of the ambulance "If you're ever looking to make extra cash get in touch, I haven't worked with a partner in a long time but I could us a Doctor with your skills." John only laughed shaking his head. If he would have turned at that moment, he would have caught the glare that Sherlock sent the contractor. Instead the action of laughing made him wince, and Sherlock was pushing the medics hands away, the brown haired man swore in French, he'd been trying to clean the gash just behind Sherlock's ear.

"John?" Sherlock went to his side, John was leaning against the ambulance taking a deep breath, he smiled clasping his eyes shut.

"I'm alright. You need to get your head examined."

"John, I was dazed I'll admit for a minute or two but I am perfectly fine."

"You thought I was dead."

"A reasonable conclusion."

"Based on what evidence, I am actually really curious as to what brought you to that conclusion. But first, first I want to know what in the hell you were thinking!?"

"John?"

"What were you thinking!? No don't answer that, you sit and let them look you over." John was standing now waving a finger in Sherlock's face, the taller man instinctively complied.

Mycroft remained unnoticed, as the two friends argued, more like Sherlock sat pouting while John chastised his actions.

"Oh, that reminds me. Where is the terrorist you broke out?"

"Oh, him. I locked him in a dumpster. Come to think of it I have the perfect experiment in mind. The affect of bacteria from average everyday garbage on an open wound, say a missing finger."

"Sherlock?" John took a deep breath, "I know I'm going to regret asking but, did you shoot the finger off a terrorist?."

"Yes, but it was the sensible thing to do at the time, I'm sure."

"You're sure?"

"To be truthful I can't say for certain."

"You can't say for certain?"

"John perhaps you should have your head looked over as well, you seem to be repeating my words."

"Sherlock."

"Oh, like I was saying. One minute I was talking on the phone to Shutze and the next I had shot the younger Shutze in the hand, blasting a finger clear off the knuckle."

The burning warehouses of the district made for a beautiful backdrop at sunset, the British Government could hear the exhaustion in John's voice but he still showed concern for others.

"Mycroft." Sherlock grumbled seeing his brother approaching.

"John I see you found my little brother for me. So the terrorist is in a dumpster near by."

"Yes, of course its near."

"An what were you going to do with him after? If I could ask."

"I hadn't thought of it yet. But I had the situation under control-" Sherlock glared at his older brother, and John frowned his head was really aching, as much as he'd like to break this one up he needed to sit down.

"John. I think it's time you take your own advice, Doctor. Leave the clean up to me and my men. No harm done I guess since the escaped terrorist is still in custody, looks like we have a certain international terrorist to add to our list of detainees although medical is going to have a field day working on his knee." Mycroft glanced over at the Doctor Watson who had the decency to look shamefaced.

"He had it coming." John murmured.

"I see. I guess I should also thank you for that little message. Two naval vessels unharmed. Interesting John how did you know I had a fondness for military history?"

"I told him. You always liked to play the British Navy when I refused to take my eye patch off when at the dinner table." John rolled his eyes now as Sherlock huffed.

"Boys, not here. Can I be excused now? I believe I have plans that involve a hot shower and clean clothes."

Mycroft merely looked in one direction and John and Sherlock were being moved to an ambulance headed to a government medical facility. Sherlock of course started to protest but one glare from John quieted almost immediately. Sherlock couldn't help but stare at John's face, so many different shades of purple.

**DAYS LATER(AFTER SWITZERLAND)**

The British Government sat behind a desk smiling to himself wickedly, this time his assistant didn't even ask, she merely placed the file on the Boss' desk and dared a quick peek at the computer screen.

"Oh boys." Mrs. Hudson called making her way up the stairs. John was sitting in his usual spot refusing his feet up on a small footstool, his bruises still very visible. Mrs. Hudson shook her head, she learned to just bring tea and biscuits and not ask to many questions. Tonight she held a package address to J. H. Watson. "I almost forgot this was delivered today by your brother Sherlock he wanted me to personally see that it was put in John's hands."

"Thank you Mrs. Hudson." John frowned, it wasn't his birthday, or any holiday, he glanced at the calendar on the wall just in case, no, no holiday. Sherlock put his violin down and was moving curiously over to Johns side.

"Oh, how sweet there's a card." Mrs. Hudson read it out loud as John unwrapped the brown package.

_"John, something to keep you busy in your recovery. –MH"_ John groaned seeing what the brown paper covered, but Sherlock's eyes lit up.

"I thought you said they stopped making Cluedo boards, this says the new Cluedo millennium edition. And I was so bored!" John wanted to run but he was unable to move too fast, due to his mending injuries.

He swore under his breath as Sherlock pulled a table over between the two chairs, clearing the newspapers from the coffee table. Excitedly setting up the board. "Mrs. Hudson start the kettle we are going to need fuel in the form of warm tea. Caffeine always heightens the brains processing abilities. Oh and John would like a cup as well."

Mrs. Hudson smiled "Not your housekeeper but just this once. For John."

"No, no. Sherlock no. I'm going to bed." He tried to get up and decided against, his whole body throbbed still and he hated pain medication. His phone buzzed from beside him, he opened the text.

_"This should keep you busy. And the two of you out of trouble for at least a couple of hours."-MH_

_"Not funny Mycroft. Why, why would you do this?"-JW_

"Oh look John they have new metal pieces representing the weapons, we should add some of our own!" Sherlock excitedly jumped up hurrying off somewhere out of sight, John heard cabinets being slammed in a kitchen and the silverware drawer being emptied out. Oh god what was he getting up to now. His phone buzzed again, John irritably opened the text.

_"Because I worry about you both constantly."-MH_

John rolled his eyes tossing his phone from him, "Very funny Mycroft." He grumbled to no one but himself. Not believing a minute the British Government would worry about an ex army Doctor. Maybe he should ask for those pain pills before playing the loathed game.

**_THE END_ **

**_A/N thank you all for the wonderful reviews_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading any reviews always welcome :)


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